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LIBRARY OF SELECT NOVELS. 4 


^ Stoi'i) of ©raucl 


By VIRGINIA W. JOHNSON, 


AUTHOR OF 


THE CATSKILL FAIRIES,” “THE CALDERWOOD SECRET, 
“JOSEPH THE JEW,” “A SACK OF GOLD,” &c. 


“Measure for measure, 


WK^ ALL THE WORKS IN THIS SERIES ARE p 

Unabi’idijed and Unaltered. ^ 


GEORGE ELIOT’S NOVELS. 


ADAM BEDE. Illustrated. lamo, Cloth, $i 50. 

DANIEL DERONDA. 2 vols., 12 mo, Cloth. Price $i 50 
per volume. 

FELIX HOLE the RADICAL. Illustrated. 12 mo. 
Cloth, 50. 

MID D LEM ARCH. 2 vols., i2mo. Cloth, ^3 00. 

ROMOLA. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, 50. 

SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE, and SILAS MARNER, 
The Weaver of Raveloe. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $i 50. 

THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, 

50- 


EXTRACTS FROM NOTICES OF DANIEL DERONDA.” 


The position of George Eliot in the literature of 
modern fiction is absolutely regal. She alone, among 
contemporary writers, stands above the strife of 
party: all critics, however much opposed in other 
matters, are her zealous ministers, and all readers, 
whatever their tastes, are her loyal admirers. De- 
traction would sound like treason, criticism itself al- 
most like impertinence. She has no need to keep 
her name alive by bringing out her three or six vol- 
umes a year : her one novel in three years is a royal 
visit, and an event in history. * * * Every sentence she 
writes tells its tale of patient care, and of the enthusi- 
asm for an ideal that rejects fii’st and second thoughts 
as mere playing on the threshold of art ; still she 
wears her crown by divine right of gehius, and if she 
accepts the too often forgotten duties of genius, all 
the more honor to her. — GZo&e, London. 

As a study of human nature, it is wonderful. * * * 
Her books are eveuts.— Springfield Republican. 


There has, we suspect, never been a popular fixvorite 
who has so completely found the key to the sympa- 
thies of her special audience as George Eliot.— 
tator^ London. 

The study of Mirah, the young Jewess, is told with a 
tenderness and pathos to which we do not remember 
a parallel in all George Eliot’s Examiner ^ 

London. 

No larger and more intellectual audience probably 
waits upon any living writer in the English language 
than George Eliot now assembles by the touch of her 
pen. — Congregatio7ialist, Boston. 

Unusually full of promise. So far as the story is un- 
folded, it strikes us as likely to be more popular than 
“Middleraarch.” The style is epigrammatic and pol- 
ished as ever, and the constructive art seems to ap- 
proach perfection.— London Times. 

The literary event of the new year.— Boston Daily 
Globe. 


Harper & Brothers also publish Cheaper Editions of the following of 
George Eliot's Novels : 

MIDDLEMARCH. 8vo, Paper, $i 50; Cloth, $2 00. 

FELIX HOLT. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

THE MILL ON THE FLOSS. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 
ROMOLA. Illustrated. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

SCENES OF CLERICAL LIFE. 8vo, Paper, 75 cents. 

SILAS MARNER. 12 mo, Cloth, 75 cents. 

DANIEL DERONDA. 8vo, Paper, $i 50. In Fress.J 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Harper & Brothers 7vi7t send either of the above worhs hy mail, postage prepaid, to 
any part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 




MISS NANCrS PILGMAeR 


^ 0tor2 of 


/ 

By VIRGINIA W. JOHNSON, 

» I 

AUTHOR OF 

“THE CATSKILL FAIRIES,” “THE CALDERWOOD SECRET,” “JOSEPH THE JEW,” 

“A SACK OF GOLD,” &c., &c. 



‘‘Measure for measure.” 



HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN SQUARE. 

1876. 





By VIRGINIA W. JOHNSON. 


A SACK OF GOLD. A Novel. 8vo, Paper, 
50 cents. 

A novel which places the author among the fore- 
most writers of the day. — Evening Post, N. Y. 

JOSEPH THE JEW. The Story of an Old 
House. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

It is well WTitten, and abounds in startling situa- 
tions, hair-breadth escapes, counterplots, and femi- 
nine fidelity. — Albany Evening Journal. 

MISS NANCY'S PILGRIMAGE. A Story 
of Travel. 8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 


THE CALDERWOOD SECRET. A Novel. 
8vo, Paper, 50 cents. 

Will advance the reputation of its author, whose 
earlier books w’on for her so much well - deserved 
praise. — Saturday Evening Gazette, Boston. 


THE CATSKILL FAIRIES. Illustrated by 
Alfred Fredericks. Square 8vo, Illuminated 
Cloth, Gilt Edges, $S 00. 

Miss Johnson tells a fairy story to perfection— as if 
she believed it herself— and with a wealth of trick- 
some and frolic fancy that will delight the young and 
old alike. — Christian Intellige7icer, N. Y. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New Y^ork. 

Either of the above volumes ivill be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any phrt of the United States or Canada, 

on receipt of the price. 


Copyright, 1876, by Harper & Brothers. 


CONTENTS 


Ten Minutes Late 

CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

Grandmother’s Roses 

CHAPTER II. 

At Sea 

CHAPTER III. 

Two Young Men 

CHAPTER IV. 

An Iron Box 

CHAPTER V. 

28 

So3iebody’s Pocket-book 

CHAPTER VI. 

Saved by the Polar Bear 

CHAPTER VII. 

“Lies have Long Legs” 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Mr. Vidal’s Mother-in-law 

CHAPTER IX. 

Brighton by the Sea 

CHAPTER X. 

Boulogne-sur-Mer 

CHAPTER XI. 

62 

4 ^ 

< 

Engaged 

CHAPTER XII. 

66 


CHAPTER XIII. 


One o’clock at the Hotel Cluny 70 

CHAPTER XIV. 


In the Dome of the Pantheon. 


78 


8 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XV. 

PAGE 

The Strange Adventures of a White Horse 84 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Mrs. Sharpe buys a Cook’s Ticket 88 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Sunshine at Nice 94 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Miss Nancy is entertained by a Marquis 101 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Galileo’s Lamp 107 

CHAPTER XX. 

Miss Nancy reaches the Pilgrim’s Shrine 112 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Blanche Pierman 119 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Blue Balcony 122 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Old Roman Lace 129 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Easter Morning 133 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


CHAPTER I. 

TEN MINUTES LATE. 

O N the 10th of June, 1874, the steamship 
Acis sailed from New York for Liver- 
pool, with one hundred and fifty cabin pas- 
sengers, and four hundred in the steerage. 

Beside the bulwark stood Miss Nancy 
Hawse, school-marm, alone in a crowd of 
excited human beings, isolated by the very 
audacity of her choice, and keenly observant 
of those about her. The tender warnings 
of a sobbing mother reached her ear, as a 
young bride in exquisite toilet clung to the 
proud parent, listening between tears and 
smiles, while her pretty blue eyes sought 
those of the bridegroom. 

Miss Nancy admired the grouping of this 
picture, with a little pang of doubt and won- 
der, marveling, perhaps, that some women 
seem to have bloomed into the world only 
as the more delicate blossoms, their velvet 
petals unruffled by a single rude breath, 
stanch protection of thorn and leaves guard- 
ing them on every side, while others must 
needs sheathe themselves in rough husk, or 
be crushed in the battle. 

Had I been one of these, I should not be 
here to-day,” reflected the plain woman be- 
side the bulwark, and inhaled the fragrance 
of a bunch of violets, which she carried in 
her hand, with a certain amount of charac- 
ter in the action. 

Nobody came to bid her farewell ; indeed, 
her departure was strongly condemned by 
the few friends she had left in her village 
home ; much less were any of the wreaths 
and garlands of exotics, the ships of tube- 
roses, the fairy castles of snowy lilies, which 
had been borne up the plank for hours in 
fragrant procession, for her. She was alone, 
and she had purchased the bunch of violets 
on her way to the steamer. She found her- 
self, more than once, wishing that some un- 
known admirer had unexpectedly remem- 
bered her thus, as these floral trophies were 
carried past by irascible stewards. 

The June sky was cloudless, the June sun 
poured down rays of heat on wharves which 
are a disgrace to our modern civilization. 


emitting evil odors, decaying in the slimy 
ebb of tides, and heaped with the d6bris of 
sea and shore. Since noon the pier had 
been choked with a surging mass of vehi- 
cles, merchandise, and delayed voyagers, like 
a clogged artery flowing slowly to the ship’s 
side. Since noon, the steerage had been 
recklessly imbibing ‘^Jersey lightning” with 
hosts of friends and well wishers, to pay 
the penalty in delirium tremens and death at 
sea. It was a familiar scene, often repeat- 
ed, but with the novelty of entire freshness 
to Miss Nancy. Her pulse beat high when 
her ear caught the first hissing of expectant 
steam in huge boilers, which meant change, 
release, the unknown ; the nomad spirit stir- 
red, awakened within her breast. Had she 
been born a Russian, how would she have 
wandered as a pilgrim, buoyed up by the 
same enthusiasm that enables the Slavic 
women to traverse weary leagues in search 
of a shrine, a goal ! As an American, she 
might still hope to hold a front rank among 
the wanderers of the earth. Her eye glis- 
tened as it rested on brass and iron, polish- 
ed to dazzling brilliancy of machinery; a 
thread of filmy smoke curled from the pipe 
overhead. 

The club man, delicately gloved, and with 
a flower in his coat, was paying his farewell 
visit to the conscious young lady, whose 
simpered replies were rendered inarticulate, 
and possibly inefiective, by the general uj)- 
roar and confusion. The business man, sal- 
low and thin, but beginning to feel the elas- 
ticity of emancipation from work, tossed ci- 
gars to his friends ashore, and ordered un- 
limited Champagne, while fervent promises 
to write by pilot and from Queenstown were 
extorted. This wave of kindly sympathy, 
the expansion of heart incident to leave- 
taking which may never be followed by 
greeting again in this world, reached the 
lonely woman beside the bulwark, and com- 
forted her. After all, she was a part of the 
great human family, and the widening of 
the circles from that central ring of individ- 
ual affection, inclosed her in a colder, outer 
embrace, not devoid of solace. 

Twice had the bell rung ; the gold band 


10 


MISS NANCY'S PILGEIMAGE. 


of the captain’s cap had already become vis- 
ible on the upper deck ; the blonde whiskers 
and ruddy countenances of other officers be- 
gan to pervade every thing below ; final part- 
ings had taken place, subdued and impul- 
sive ; a dark fringe of humanity lined the 
pier. The very moment of departure had 
come, and Miss Nancy drew a long breath, 
half of exultation and half of fear. 

Suddenly the planks of the wharf echoed 
to the thunder of rolling wheels, the tread 
of horses’ flying hoofs, and a carriage ap- 
peared, driven at a furious pace. With the 
instinct of ready sympathy and interest pe- 
culiar to her class. Miss Nancy gazed at the 
handsome equipage. 

‘^They will be too late, as sure as the 
world!” she exclaimed, involuntarily, and 
forgot the recent iojunction of a sailor to 
keep her dress free from the great wire rope 
along-side. 

A gentleman, hastily alighting from the 
carriage, assisted out a veiled lady, a young 
girl, a maid, and little boy. 

How are they to get on board ?” again 
exclaimed Miss Nancy, watching the half- 
withdrawn bridge, and then she flushed an 
uncomfortable red to discover that her com- 
j)anions were not at all interested in the 
belated travelers ; indeed, such interest as 
they could spare from their own affairs was 
centred in a stare of astonishment at her- 
self. 

What had she done ? Did none of them 
care whether the party safely embarked or 
not ? Surely such selfish indifference was 
scarcely human, according to her code, and 
certainly not Christian, to say the very least. 

The lady, muffled in a veil, swept along 
the deck, having passed up the restored 
bridge, and her manner betokened a languid 
calmness, as if it were the most natural 
matter possible that she should have kept 
a steamship waiting. The young girl, with 
bright golden hair waving beneath a little 
hat, tripped after unconcernedly, and the 
portly gentleman who followed her, laden 
with shawls and bags, alone looked flushed 
and discomposed. 

There was a little rush of commotion near 
the bulwark: the plain woman standing 
there had caught her dress in the gliding 
wire - rope ; the portly gentleman paused 
helplessly, his hands encumbered with 
wraps, and suffered others to wrench away 
the flounce sadly frayed and tattered in 
the contest. The bunch of violets had fall- 
en from Miss Nancy’s grasp in the struggle 
to release her new traveling-dress from such 
damaging contact; the portly gentleman 
trod on it with one massive foot, and pass- 
ed on, unheeding, summoned by a querulous 
inquiry from the veiled lady, his wife. 

It was not the first time he had ruthless- 
ly trodden upon such flowers as had been 
vouchsafed to Nancy Hawse’s pathway in 


life, and, then, the bunch of violets was such 
a very small one. 

The party disappeared below, and Miss 
Nancy, with a white, set face, was left to 
recover her composure, while securing the 
ragged trimmings of her flounce with a pin. 
What a fool she was! Even now, in her 
sober middle age, it made her heart beat 
with nervous rapidity to realize that John 
Pierman and his family were to be her fel- 
low-passengers on board the Acis, Curious 
freak of destiny! After a separation of 
weary years, three persons who had done 
so much to make or mar each other’s life, 
were gathered together for a sea -voyage. 
A wild, petulant impulse to go ashore and 
give up every thing possessed her ; the mist 
of tears came suddenly to her eyes ; a pain- 
ful knot gathered in her throat. Was there 
an element of relief, or only additional pain, 
in the fact that John Pierman had failed to 
recognize her? Was she so much changed, 
then ? All the bright anticipations of her 
day were clouded by the very fact of the in- 
mates of the lately arrived carriage having 
actually embarked with herself, after her 
own suspense and interest in their behalf. 
One mortal exercises a vast influence over 
the pleasure at least of another in this 
world. 

The Ads moved at her anchorage. Miss 
Nancy was not so obtuse as to fail in respon- 
sive enthusiasm to the flrst surge of a ma- 
jestic vessel ; the slow sweep past the pier, 
freighted with the waiting throng ; the gen- 
teel flutter of white pocket-handkerchiefs 
from the better classes merging into the 
prolonged shout of the steerage ; old and 
young gazing wistfully on the ship home- 
ward -bound; traces of toil, sorrow, and 
pinching poverty on many a rugged face. 
The pretty bride consented to raise her 
face from the embroidered handkerchief, in 
which it had been concealed since her moth- 
er’s departure, in response to the cheers. 

Miss Nancy was aware that the girl, with 
bright waving hair, stood at her elbow, gaz- 
ing eagerly at the city ; the little boy, clad 
as a valiant sailor, with a white anchor on 
his breast, pushed his way to the best post 
of observation, with the charming disregard 
for others peculiar to childhood. Nay, more, 
Miss Nancy was conscious, in every fibre of 
her being, that the stout gentleman. Dr. 
John Pierman, and the veiled lady were be- 
hind her. 

^^Well, we are really off, my dear,” he 
said, gayly, as if with restored good-humor. 
“ It would have been no joke to be left, 
though.” 

^‘They never sail on time,” replied the 
lady, coldly. ^^What an inferior- looking 
set of passengers we have here ! I am confi- 
dent the Arrow Line carries a better class.” 

Tut ! tut ! you need have no association 
with strangers, Margaret. The Cocks are 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


11 


on board, and have taken all the best cab- 
ins,” added the husband, with unguarded 
frankness. 

‘^All the best cabins?” repeated the wife, 
sharply. Pray, what accommodations have 
we, then ?” 

Don’t scold, mamma,” urged the young 
girl, turning around. “ We shall do very 
well, I am sure ,* and this great boat is such 
fun. Look at the dear old Hudson once 
more.” 

Miss Nancy listened quietly, an obstinate 
expression settling about her large, firm 
mouth. She no longer changed color and 
trembled, and she stood her ground un- 
flinchingly ; but she would not move an inch 
in order to face these people. The next 
words uttered by the veiled lady struck her 
ear with a peculiar vibration : 

I wonder if we shall ever see it all 
again.” 

The little boy tugged at Miss Nancy’s 
gown, either mistaking her for the maid, or 
needing a confidante. 

Look at the fort,” he insisted. 

^^Yes,” she assented, almost inaudibly, 
studying instead the little peachy face, 
warmly colored as that of an Italian child ; 
a small scarlet mouth, revealing tiny white 
teeth ; dark eyes, scanning the fort ; and a 
tress of chestnut hair curling on the broad, 
low forehead beneath the straw yachting- 
hat. 

^^What a silly mamma!” laughed the 
young girl, blithely. We shall be back in 
September, and I only wish we could stay 
longer.” 

Again a sense of weakness smote Miss 
Nancy ; all her fortitude seemed to melt 
away at the first blow ; when she had fan- 
cied herself so strong, having outlived the 
age of romance. 

Quiet, tinged with solemnity, crept over 
the ship’s company for a space of time, as 
the distant hills melted to the blue of hori- 
zon-line, as city roofs faded to spires and 
a net-work of masts, as the deep azure of 
cloudless sky was reflected in the untrou- 
bled calm of the bay. The veiled lady had 
become very silent, the young girl ceased to 
laugh; only the shrill treble of the little 
man in yachting costume kept up a volley 
of questions. 

An hour later. Miss Nancy still stood in 
the same attitude, as if carved out of stone, 
watching the waning shores lying in the 
full radiance of the afternoon sunshine, 
while the soft breeze wafted the last fra- 
grance of home in the perfume of New Jer- 
sey orchards and gardens. 

“I wonder if we shall ever see it all 
again,” she repeated, absently ; and a dis- 
tant object flashed tremulously, sparkled, 
and expired like a beacon. 

She had taken her resolution, marked out 
her own line of conduct before the bluff old 


pilot stepped over the side, and the little 
steam -tug adorned with flags, vocal with 
the spasmodic exertions of a band, dropped 
astern. She must make the best of this un- 
fortunate rencounter with John Piermau and 
his family, for she had chosen her own way 
— at what a cost ! — in visiting Europe, and 
must abide by it. A degree of stubborn 
pride in not turning back, in having de- 
stroyed one’s retreat at the starting-point, 
has more to do with the fulfillment of many 
aims than appears on the surface Miss 
Nancy, having reasoned that it w^id be no 
difficult matter to avoid the Pierniafe family 
in such a crowd, at length descended to her 
cabin, intent on mending her flounce, and 
discovering who her room-mate might be. 

Curiosity was fully and unexpectedly grat- 
ified. In the passage the little boy in yacht- 
ing costume stood on the brass-bound lad- 
der, pleasantly suggestive of a flight to uj)- 
per berths, endeavoring to poke his head 
through the port-hole. The girl with bright 
hair was sorting flowers into the marble ba- 
sin of Miss Nancy’s own cabin, and the skirt 
of a black silk dress billowing out of an op- 
posite door belonged to no other person than 
the veiled lady. 

Miss Nancy’s quarters on board ship were 
located in the very enemy’s camp ! A deep 
flush burned in her usually cool cheek. The 
pilot’s boat skimmed past, framed by the 
port-hole, with white sails unfurled to the 
breeze. Oh that she were with the pilot, 
instead of standing on the threshold of cab- 
in 15, steamship Acis ! All her heart went 
out in an ineffectual longing to escape to 
the bluff' man in a rough coat, whose boat 
was standing away to the shore. 

^^Are you to be my room-mate?” she in- 
quired slowly, still pausing on the threshold. 

A ray of light, intensified by the glancing 
blue of sunlit waves below, fell on the girl’s 
rippling tresses, as she sat there arranging 
her wealth of roses; and the older woman 
could never afterward disassociate her from 
their rich and subtle perfume. 

You are Miss Hawse, then ?” said the 
girl, looking up quickly. 

Across the narrow passage the black silk 
dress rustled, undulated, and a thin aquiline 
face became visible, wearing an affable smile, 
as of one prepared to be most gracious to a 
daughter’s room-mate. Miss Nancy turned, 
and the two women looked at each other. 

Instant recognition leaped from pale-blue 
eyes, and was met by calm gray eyes ; a 
scarcely perceptible nervous quiver distort- 
ed Mrs. Pierman’s thin lips, and then she 
held out her hand, would even have given 
Nancy a little feminine peck of a kiss, only 
that the latter shrunk from such a greeting. 

‘‘You here!” she exclaimed, in accents of 
unfeigned surprise. “I thought you were 
married long ago.” 

“I am not married, although that need 


12 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


not deter one from travel/’ replied Miss 
Nancy, somewhat dryly. 

Of course not. Yet people from Briar- 
bush seldom visit Europe, you must ac- 
knowledge.” 

Mrs. Pierman’s voice was smooth and 
sweet, only with a plaintive intonation 
which would some day degenerate into 
querulousness. 

The young girl could make nothing un- 
usual out of this meeting. Two mature 
ladies confronted each other — one tall, thin, 
and distingue, perhaps by reason of her ap- 
parel; and the other of medium height, 
stouter, with brown hair gathered into a 
knot at the back of the head, in a most un- 
conventional coiffure and a gray stuff travel- 
ing-dress of unmistakable rustic fashion. 

The daughter decided unhesitatingly that 
Miss Nancy came from the country, and 
lacked style, and then she made herself a 
place in the conversation, with all the assur- 
ance of a petted child. 

^^Papa could not get me a cabin alone, 
you know, because the boat was so crowd- 
ed, and it is ever so much more expensive ; 
besides, mamma has No. 16, and Tom and 
Marie are beyond. I am glad you are to be 
my room-mate. Will you have a rose ? Oh, 
do take one, please ; I’ve such quantities of 
them here. Are you a good sailor, and did 
you know mamma before ? How funny !” 

‘^Miss Hawse and I were friends when 
we were young,” said Mrs. Pierman, doubt- 
fully. 

^WVhen you were young,” said Blanche, 
with the most unconscious inflection of sar- 
castic incredulity. 

We were once young,” said Miss Nancy, 
smiling. 

She accepted the rose, ashamed of her own 
reluctance to do so, and afterward went on 
deck again to escape from her most unwel- 
come neighbors. 


CHAPTER II. 
grandmother’s roses. 

The dinner - bell rang at four o’clock ; 
there was a clatter of crockery in the great 
saloon ; whiffs of steaming soups ascended 
through the open sky-light ; and passengers 
trooped below with the smiling aspect pe- 
culiar to the commencement of a voyage. 

Miss Nancy did not join the throng, con- 
tenting herself with watching the blue 
W’aves ripple gently against the ship’s prow 
instead: indeed, she always slighted the 
more material comforts of life in moments 
of intense excitement. Her temples throb- 
bed, and her cheeks still wore the unwonted 
flush which had dyed them crimson on dis- 
covering the propinquity of the Piermans 
below decks. If J ohu had been there him- 


self, the ordeal would have been doubly se- 
vere. Memory, buried in peaceful oblivion 
so long, started up, like a warrior armed 
with innumerable weapons, sharp, insinua- 
ting, irritating ; and the equipoise of Miss 
Nancy’s nature was not proof against the 
unexpected foe. Oh, to call back the van- 
ished years when John Pierman was her 
lover, and all the world was filled with fair- 
est x^romise, before doubt, mystery, and 
Margaret Harrison stepped between them! 
Would she recall the years if she could? 
Miss Nancy pondered with a puzzled won- 
der, watching the waves dance and ripple, 
the blue sky arch to the remote horizon, be- 
nignant in its all-embracing loveliness, and 
then a sense of soothing peacefulness stole 
over her. There are calms as well as fret- 
ting currents and fearful storms on the great 
ocean of life. In her fingers she held the 
rose given her by John’s daughter. How 
vividly the scent brought back grandmoth- 
er’s porch, where the rose-bush twined which 
had always seemed to mark the years of her 
own growth, as June, leafy, dewy, tender, 
with the budding promises of riper midsum- 
mer, came round year after year ! 

First a little girl in calico gown and sun- 
bonnet had reached up with chubby hands 
for the large white flower, each snowy petal 
exx3anding tremulously to the breeze, and 
a boy, taller and older, had cut it for her, 
proud of possessing the new jack-knife which 
enabled him to perform the act of gallantry. 
A second little girl, also attired in calico, 
and swinging a tin pail, had stood at the 
gate. 

Give me one too,” she had cried, with 
ready jealousy. 

Then grandmother’s face had appeared at 
the pantry window, spectacles on nose, and 
her thin old voice had piped. 

Children, leave my roses alone !” 

The second little girl, Maggy Harrison by 
name, had departed sulkily, carrying her fa- 
ther’s dinner to the new house on the hill, 
which he was building, just as Nancy’s par- 
ent came striding along the road, laden 
with trophies yielded him by the very heart 
of the woods. 

Seated on the deck of the Ads, she had 
only to close her eyes, and the dear familiar 
image appeared to her once more. A tall, 
shambling figure wearing a loose coat, and 
broad straw hat pushed back on his head 
until it formed a halo about a serene, kind- 
ly face. Such was Nancy’s father, the vil- 
lage minister, upbraided by his people, with 
a gentle toleration because of a rex^rehensi- 
ble habit of poking in muddy pools after 
polliwigs, and wasting hours searching for 

leaves an’ things ” among the hills, yet fol- 
lowed by all the children for miles around. 

It is a fern, my dears,” he had exclaim- 
ed, excitedly ; and forthwith little Nancy and 
John Pierman were pressing close against his 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


13 


knee, while he sorted his treasures on the 
stone door-steps of the old red homestead. 

Again grandmother’s keen face appeared 
at the window, gazing scornfully at the 
group. 

Hezekiah, Deacon Baylis has been here 
the better part of an hour a-waitin’ to see 
you about the Sunday-school hooks,” she 
said, primly. 

Lord bless me !” exclaimed father, start- 
ing up in guilty haste, ^^I forgot it was 
Thursday.” 

Crawford’s cows trampled down our 
clover last night ; but I don’t suppose you’ll 
say nothin’,” added grandmother, in a som- 
bre tone. 

John Pierman caught at father’s hand 
eagerly. 

Let me go with you next time,” im- 
plored the hoy. 

To he sure,” replied the minister, pat- 
ting his head. 

Afterward Nancy heard father praise John 
to grandmother as a hoy of promise. 

“Most hoys are glad of the chance to get 
off into the woods,” observed grandmother, 
clicking her knitting-needles. 

Perhaps this early praise of John took 
root in Nancy’s nature as a firm conviction, 
and thenceforth became a part of her being; 
for she believed in father always with the 
firm^t, most unwavering allegiance, and 
read her reward in his dying eyes on the 
dark day before she closed the minister’s 
lids forever, when she was a thoughtful, 
grave woman twenty-five years old. 

June flushed and faded, with the roses 
blooming about grandmother’s porch: the 
tall, slender girl, not unmindful of the be- 
comingness of her muslin gown, could very 
well have gathered her own flowers, but the 
young man again plucked one, and placed it 
in her brown hair. The crescent of a moon 
in the clear sky silvered the tops of elm 
and maple trees, and lay on the white road 
beyond the gate, leaving the garden a dim 
expanse of odorous stillness all in shadow. 
The second girl no longer looked over the 
fence, the wheel of fortune having revolved 
for the carpenter’s daughter with capricious 
suddenness, and swept her away to the dis- 
tant city, where she was adopted by a rich 
lady. Humphrey Baylis, the deacon’s son, 
a long youtli in ill-fitting garments, did 
loiter past the gate, directing wistful glances 
at the porch where Nancy’s gown shimmer- 
ed softly in the dusk, and John Pierman, 
always fiery and impetuous, had frowned in 
response to her airy laughter. John was 
very exacting, and could ill brook interrup- 
tion. Behold, was he not detailing the 
grievances of his lot, sure of Nancy’s ready 
sympathy ? Hampered by poverty, an or- 
I)han who already fought his own battle, 
ambition was also awakening in John’s 
breast. He would go forth into the world. 


and be a great physician ; and Nancy had 
listened with a little gasp of awe at the 
prospect. Then grandmother’s voice had 
sounded from the sitting-room, more inexor- 
able than the brass-bound clock on the shelf, 

“ Nancy, it’s time you was abed.” 

Oh, the burning indignation of maiden- 
hood at such ignominious summons within- 
doors, when the night is cool and sweet, the 
moon shining, and another young voice 
moves the ear ! On the evening in question, 
Nancy had obeyed a second, sharper warn- 
ing with a swiftness suggestive of extreme 
exasperation, had banged the house door, 
and exclaimed, 

“ How I wish there was no such thing as 
sleep, grandmother! It is just like banda- 
ging your eyes for fear of seeing God’s firma- 
ment in all its glory, to go to bed on such 
a night as this.” 

“Young gals were not allowed to gad 
about evenings in my day. You’ll be sleepy 
enough to-morrow morning, mebbe,” replied 
grandmother ; then closed the big Bible, and, 
removing the spectacles from her sharp old 
nose for the day, put them to bed in a mo- 
rocco case, previous to retiring herself. 

After that were the days years, or only 
shadows fraught with pain and sinking 
misgivings ? It is possible to look back, 
disillusioned, to the tragic period of one’s 
youth, with a wonder akin to numbness at 
one’s own part in the drama, strung by ex- 
citement to play a false role, forced by cir- 
cumstances to step wholly out of the routine 
of self. John Pierman, once proUge of the 
village doctor, had gone to the great city 
two years before to study in the colleges. 
Briarbush knew that when he came home 
on those rare vacations he went straight to 
the minister’s house, with whom he was a 
favorite : and Nancy’s secret was not so se- 
curely locked in her own breast as she fan- 
cied; for gossip — with the aid of Betty 
Hodges, who helped with the washing at 
the minister’s house every week — had in- 
serted that burglar’s key of shrewd conjec- 
ture, and rifled her treasury, before John had 
asked her to marry him when he should be 
established. Briarbush had settled such 
knotty problems as where the young couple 
were to live, and on what income, with 
many head-shakes, entirely to its own sat- 
isfaction, long in advance of the lovers. 
Nancy had waited and hoped in serene se- 
curity, her energy finding outlet in teachiug 
the village academy, a place of honor readi- 
ly assigned her by reason of her superior 
“schooling.” Had not Briarbush decided 
that the post of school-marm must be her 
future destiny on the day when she won the 
great “ Webster, Unabridged,” in the spell- 
ing - match with five neighboring villages ? 
The town-hall was the scene of combat : all 
Briarbush put on its best bonnet to attend ; 
and there was a delicious rumor concerning 


14 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


sponge-cake and lemonade to be served aft- 
erward. The champion from Norton attack- 
ed and conquered Coelo- Syria ; the com- 
petitor from Hackley, a prodigy of twelve, 
with apprehensive blue eyes, stormed ex- 
osseous ” with victorious banners ; Milford’s 
representative, a lank girl of sixteen, remain- 
ed undaunted by Absyrtus,” or even ^‘Xys- 
ter.” These victories were as preliminary 
skirmishes. It was only when “ Synchew 
was given out by the judge that Nancy 
Hawse stood by her colors. Hackley falter- 
ed, Norton stammered, Milford fainted away 
in the height of contest and was laid out 
on a bench, and Nancy won the prize. 

Briarbush was not likely to forget this 
victory, which gave the editor of The Briar- 
hush Banner a field for the display of wit in 
taunting his less successful neighbors, and 
when the time came Nancy was installed as 
school -mistress. At eighteen she was her 
father’s own daughter, not wholly under- 
stood by her neighbors, and greatly disap- 
l^roved of by grandmother. Not only did 
Nancy spurn needle-work, that safeguard of 
womanhood, but spent all her leisure hours 
poriug over old books, the veriest chaff in 
literature becoming precious grain to feed 
her hungry mind. Now, to waste time in 
reading books which might be spent in 
stitching, baking, or even visiting, was 
accounted a sin in the eyes of Briarbush, 
while grandmother strove in vain to make 
the minister see the evil of Nancy’s ways. 
Of course, a minister was expected to live 
among his books, godly books, grandmother 
conceded ; yet these odd volumes perused hy 
Nancy, in battered covers, and often with no 
covers at all, which gave them a rakish, dis- 
reputable air, might be the emanation of 
the very works of darkness, for any thing 
grandmother, as a Christian woman, knew to 
the contrary. The minister had smilingly 
promised to investigate the matter, and next 
day he was discovered at dinner-time seat- 
ed on the garret stairs, with his daughter’s 
arm around his neck, while they together 
read a well-thumbed page. Nancy had run 
down quickly, and attempted to disarm 
grandmother with a kiss. 

I am certain no good will come to you 
after such doings,” the old lady had said in 
her most severe tone, and had eaten her din- 
ner afterward with the solemnity of one pre- 
siding at a funeral banquet. 

One spring day a graceful and elegant 
young lady sued for admittance at the old 
red homestead, and the homely portal was 
opened wide. The threshold was well worn 
with the guest’s foot, and the two women, 
grandmother and Nancy, only knew the ex- 
penses of unvarying hospitality, and how 
little sums laid apart in bureau drawers and 
stocking bags trickled slowly back to keep 
the main stream of family expenses in mo- 
tion. This young lady was Margaret Harri- 


son, beautifully dressed in silk and lace, pale, 
languid, and with a well-bred air of com- 
posure which became her. She wished to 
see dear old Briarbush once more, she said, 
and had always felt hurt by Nancy’s neglect 
all these years. Honest Nancy was flatter- 
ed and delighted. She received Margaret 
into her confidence, and in return ventured 
to ask shy questions about John Pierman, 
whose letters were not as regular of late as 
they had been heretofore. When the roses 
bloomed once more he was coming home, 
though, and then a wedding-day was to be 
talked about. Nancy was in no haste for 
the fulfillment of all rich promises ; only the 
sweet, sustaining chord of John’s love made 
harmony of the humble drudgery of her 
daily life. Margaret admitted having seen 
John in the great city where both lived ; he 
was growing quite fashionable, she believed, 
and it was well for a young physician to 
establish a good connection as early as pos- 
sible. Astonished, incredulous Briarbush 
sought in vain for the little girl of the cal- 
ico frock in this suave, dignified embodiment 
of eighteen. Margaret was interested in ev- 
ery thing; she even visited the cemetery, 
and wept over the grave of her delinquent 
, parent, whose preference for cider had led to 
stronger potations. The factory girls pop- 
ped their heads out of every window of Dea- 
con Baylis’s great white mill when Margaret 
passed, attracted by that magnet, irresistible 
to factory girls, of city fashions. Humphrey 
Baylis, a sedate young man, with a long nose 
and high shirt-collar, alone remained proof 
against her fascinations, and obstinately 
walked home beside Nancy from evening 
meeting. 

Another picture started out vividly on the 
canvas of memory : Humphrey Baylis lean- 
ing on the gate that Sunday evening, while 
Margaret, possibly piqued by his indiffer- 
ence, went into the house. Nancy had said, 
half wistfully. 

How handsome Margaret has grown, and 
superior to us all here,” 

I don’t think so,” replied sober Hum- 
phrey Baylis; ^^she can not hold a candle 
to the woman I wish to make my wife.” 

Indeed !” retorted Nancy, saucily ; and 
who may she be, sir ?” 

^‘You know very well, Nancy. Will you 
marry me ?” 

What nonsense you are talking !” cried 
Nancy, snatching away the hand he had 
taken over the gate, and running up the 
path. 

Margaret stood in the porch, peering sus- 
piciously out into the darkness. 

It does not require great penetration to 
perceive — something,” she said, archly. 

What ?” demanded Nancy, flushing with 
annoyance and vague alarm. 

^^That you and Humphrey Baylis are 
lovers, or soon will be.” 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


15 


^^You are mistaken,” retorted Nancy, 
sliarply ; then added, falteringly, I thought 
you knew — that is, John and I are to he mar- 
ried.” 

^^Is it possible?” ejaculated Margaret, in 
a low tone. 

You seem to consider the circumstance 
very unusual,” said Nancy, not without 
pique. 

^‘Nothing is strange in this world,” ob- 
served Margaret, with mature wisdom. 

Next day she went away. The visit to 
her native village was a whim, and subse- 
quent events threw no light on the motive 
which led the graceful young lady hither, so 
far as Nancy was concerned. Several let- 
ters passed between the girls — on tinted pa- 
per and in a slanting Italian hand on Mar- 
garet’s part ; square and plain and legible 
on that of Nancy. 

John Pierraan did not come home in the 
summer vacation ; did not write any apolo- 
gy for the extraordinary measure ; seemed 
to have passed into the land of silence. Oh, 
the longing and growing anxiety of eyes 
that watched the daily mail -bag with an 
ever-recurring pang of disappointment ! Oh, 
the listless inaction of the August vacation 
when days of sultry heat succeeded each oth- 
er without change ! Pride kept Nancy’s 
lips sealed ; she even made excuses for John’s 
non-appearance as best she could. The min- 
ister still smiled, and grandmother still work- 
ed, querulous and silent. Where was John 
Pierman? What evil had befallen him ? She 
would wait patiently for his explanation; 
yet surely, left thus groping in utter dark- 
ness, she might seek such a little ray of 
oblique light as Margaret Harrison could af- 
ford. Most cunning epistle, concocted with 
infinite labor, compounded of careless vil- 
lage news, and just that casual inquiry, ^^Do 
you see John Pierman often?” revealing 
transparently the purport of the whole. 
Never from that day to this one on board the 
good ship Acis had Nancy received a word 
from Margaret Harrison. 

The blow came suddenly, after all this 
suspense. 

Grandmother found Nancy kneeling be- 
side her father’s chair in the study, hands 
clenched rigidly, white cheeks, and flaming, 
scornful eyes fixed on the sheet he was read- 
ing. John had written at last, a hasty, fu- 
rious, exaggerated letter, freeing Nancy from 
her engagement, bidding her marry Hum- 
phrey Baylis, the rich man’s son, and not 
wait to share possible years of poverty with 
him. 

You must wait patiently until he recov- 
ers his senses a little. This is the letter of 
a bitterly jealous man,” said father, quietly. 

Nancy laughed unsteadily, and knit her 
cold fingers nervously. The idea of John 
being jealous of her! Nobody ever noticed 
her much except slow, dry Humphrey Bay- 


lis, and that was because she snubbed and 
ridiculed him. Neither father nor daugh- 
ter knew what the word waiting ” signi- 
fied as they refolded the letter. The ful- 
fillment of certainty was a newspaper direct- 
ed in an unknown hand, containing the mar- 
riage of John Pierman and Margaret Harri- 
son, the agony of a cruel awakening for Nan- 
cy, and the subsequent gloom of a morbidly 
cherished wrong, an abiding sorrow. What 
it all meant she would know at the judg- 
ment-day, but never in the light of this 
world, she reflected. 

The rose-bush faded after that; autumn 
winds stripped away the leaves, and winter 
snows blanched the stem, playing pranks in 
decorative art with fairy pencilings of white 
flakes, frost-work, and icicles. In the still- 
ness of a January arctic night the rose-bush 
died. 

Miss Nancy seemed now to behold all in 
a mirror; a shape resembling herself, yet 
ghostly and unreal. Briarbush did not pity 
her much. She would marry Humphrey 
Baylis, a steady young man ; and John Pier- 
man had jilted her for handsome Margaret 
Harrison. That was the public verdict. 
Grandmother was silent, watchiug Nancy 
from the corners of her eyes, and hinting 
darkly that it might be well to invite Hum- 
phrey Baylis to tea ; even suggesting a will- 
ingness to make cake for his benefit — a pro- 
posal indignantly repulsed by her grand- 
daughter. Never were grief and wrong equal 
to her own. She brooded over it night and 
day, father watching her pityingly — the pa- 
tient father! — and the sceptre of rule in the 
village school slipped from her nerveless 
grasp, Nancy being wholly out of joint with 
the wholesome routine of a working world. 
Humphrey Baylis had become the shadow 
of her footsteps. Grandmother stated the 
advantages of the match from an elderly 
point of view: a good man, belonging to 
the richest and most respected family in the 
community, and his wife could do much for 
the minister. Nancy’s spirit, torn asunder 
in the conflict between hope, ambition, and 
a sickening disgust of self, finally rose from 
the abasement of such poisonous flattery, re- 
turning Humphrey Baylis the auswer he de- 
served, as one who generously yields all, and 
receives nothing in response. Then Hum- 
phrey married his cousin Jane, and grand- 
mother gave Nancy up with grim resigna- 
tion, as the girl moped on through winter 
storms and summer sunshine, a burden to 
herself and others. Only father never utter- 
ed words of reproach, shielded her from crit- 
icism, strove, half wistfully, to interest her 
in his ferns and little humble wild flowers, 
weaving parables about the Better Land for 
her dulled ear. 

Uncle Simon was destined to have greater 
influence over his niece’s life than he real- 
ized, much less would have wished to exer- 


16 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


cise. Uncle Simon, sun-browned to the text- 
ure and hue of leather, sparse and dry, came 
through the chill November rain, and wiped 
his feet on the door-mat. Not a frequent 
visitor. Uncle Simon, disapproving of the 
minister, his brother-in-law; disapproving 
of Nancy, especially if she were likely to 
prove an old maid ; and very chary of open- 
ing his purse-strings. Nancy had paused on 
the stairs with rapidly beating heart. Un- 
cle Simon was discussing her delinquencies 
with grandmother. 

What ails the girl f’ said the harsh, grat- 
ing voice. ^^Lost one lover, and refused a 
better one, «h ? Well, is the world to stop 
turning round on that account, while she is 
a cumberer of the ground, and a trial to her 
own father 

Nancy leaned against the wall in the dark- 
ness, the apathy of her enchantment shiver- 
ed by the lance of Uncle Simon’s unsympa- 
thetic comment. A cumberer of the ground! 
A trial to father, who never complained! 
What record could she give of the wasted 
year ? That night, while the old clock tick- 
ed solemnly, and Uncle Simon snored peace- 
fully in the best bedroom, Nancy on her 
knees, with bitter weeping and passionate 
upbraiding, cast aside the old life, conquer- 
ed, and began the new one resolutely. She 
came down to breakfast with a red bow in 
her hair; she paid remorseful attention to 
father in little duties long neglected; she 
anticipated grandmother with the work; 
she returned to the school-house with an 
energy akin to ardor, and held her pupils 
spell -bound with marvelous tales of the 
countries in their geography; and in her 
heart she perpetually thanked God for per- 
mitting her to live at all. 

Briarbush, hanging up clothes in the yard 
of a morning, or coming from the store with 
a jug of molasses, made comment on Nancy 
in this wise: s’pose she’s made up her 

mind, likely, to get along best she can now.” 

Thus the calm fell ; stirred to its depths 
indeed when father died, by the great voice- 
less under-current of bereavement, yet Nan- 
cy, closing the lids of eyes no longer respon- 
sive, put away her dead, and every Sunday 
visited her grave on the hill-side. ^‘Blessed 
are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” 
were the words traced on the tombstone of 
the good man who had not spent his days 
weighing his neighbors in the balance of his 
own narrow human judgment, nor in the 
heat of doctrinal controversy, but to whose 
coffin the children brought wreaths of wild 
flowers. 

Land was fading, the sea sparkled, and 
the clatter of dishes and hum of voices still 
ascended through the sky-light to the deck 
where Miss Nancy sat almost alone. She 
drew from her traveling-bag a much -read 
letter with a half-smile, and looked at it. 


Thirteen years after father’s death it had 
come to the old red homestead like a mighty 
shock, troubling peaceful lives. Uncle Si- 
mon was dead, had clutched his worldly 
gi3ods to the last, and made no will. Nancy 
was next of kin. At last she held the key 
of a fairy casket full of wishes. What would 
she do? Briarbush stood on tiptoe; more 
than one widower in the community decided 
that Nancy was a likely, capable sort of 
woman.” Uncle Simon’s money had dwin- 
dled through some mysterious drain, proba- 
bly speculation ; still the house remained, 
with its belongings, and was Nancy’s very 
own. She would go and live in it — a land- 
ed proprietor ; she would establish one of 
those genteel young ladies’ seminaries pecul- 
iar to country towns, and make a small fort- 
une for her old age at least. Nothing of the 
sort. She sold Uncle Simon’s dominions, 
and came home with an East India box, a 
venerable cockatoo, two miniatures, and an 
arm-chair for grandmother saved from the 
wreck of auction. Then she would place the 
sum realized — three thousand dollars — in 
the bank, and draw interest. Not at all. 
From grandmother to the outskirts of the 
village, all Briarbush was horrified when the 
truth was revealed : Miss Nancy was going 
to travel in Europe. 

What will you do when your money is 
gone ?” cried grandmother, aghast. 

Come home and earn some more,” re- 
plied Nancy, with a sob of excitement. I 
am going for father as well as myself.” 

Grandmother told her most intimate 
friends that Nancy was mad, had always 
been a trifle flighty, perhaps ; and Briarbush, 
prepared to believe any thing now, viewed 
the culprit with the sternest disapproval, as 
if she were robbing some one, entrapped her 
into argument, told stories warningly of 
reckless extravagance, and the horrors of a 
penniless old age. Humphrey Baylis and 
his wife alone upheld her with the encour- 
agement of probable enjoyment, they having 
already made a foreign tour. At this Briar- 
bush pursed up its lips sourly, and affirmed 
that a rich mill-owner could do some things 
not expedient for a poor, single school-marm. 
However, Nancy went amidst cool farewells, 
and left Betty Hodges to take charge of 
grandmother for the term of her pilgrimage. 
Thus a second time had Uncle Simon caused 
a change in his niece’s existence, himself the 
most unconscious instrument of destiny. 
Weighing the letter, which had wrought 
such a transformation for her, in her hand, 
musingly, Miss Nancy was startled by a 
voice in her ear. 

Nancy, I am glad to see you once more. 
I thought you had married Humphrey Bay- 
lis years ago,” and the massive, stout gen- 
tleman was holding her hand the next mo- 
ment in a mutual recognition. 

did not marry Humphrey Baylis, if the 


MISS NANCY^S PILGRIMAGE. 


17 


subject interests you,” sbe returned, some- 
what coldly. 

Dr. Pierman coughed uneasily. 

can not mend the past at our time 
of life. I regret — somethings. Dear me! 
Have you had no dinner yet ?” 

Thank you, I wish for none and then 
Miss Nancy gazed once more at the sea, that 
gate-way to the future. 


CHAPTER III. 

AT SEA. 

Three days out at sea, with a cloudy sky 
suggesting the possible fog of icebergs on the 
horizon, and the lead-colored waters chilling 
rapidly. Despite such disadvantages, the 
owners of deck-chairs reclined at ease, and 
grew hoarse in the rough wind, thus mark- 
ing the line of superiority over those un- 
fortunates unprovided with the luxury. 
Apparently, the loveliness of summer weath- 
er had vanished with the fading shore, and 
an intermediate stage of wretchedness had 
been reached — poised in the balance between 
the Old World and the New — when polite- 
ness wears off at a touch of mal de mer, and 
the primitive savage element grasps the best 
of every thing, finding a gloomy satisfaction 
in trampling on the rights of others. The 
American enfant terrible, prepared to make a 
summer tour of table-Whote and railway-car- 
riage, to the astonishment of European civ- 
ilization, which takes the babies to the 
sea-shore possibly, and otherwise consigns 
them to the nursery, tumbled about every- 
where, Master Tommy Pierman in the van- 
guard. Shoals of pale, thin men seeking 
recreation were grouped about, and shoals 
of discontented women, for the most part 
wishing themselves safely home again, in- 
terspersed with such quaint figures as an old 
farmer, rustic in garb and wrinkled in feat- 
ure, whose portrait might grace the walls 
of the Royal Academy, about whom clung 
the attractive story of money bequeathed by 
a death in America. 

Mrs. Pierman was seated on the deck in 
her chair, wrapped in a rich India shawl, 
and turning the leaves of a fresh novel. 
Her mood was scarcely a happy one ; her 
complexion had assumed a bluish pallor, 
and the curves of her mouth had acquired a 
dolorous downward droop. Mrs. Pierman 
had spent a sleepless night on a narrow 
shelf, in a box of a cabin with port-hole 
closed, and every vibration of the mighty 
screw beating on her spinal marrow as if she 
were a bell, and the machinery a tongue 
ringing out interminable changes of misery. 

Certain sign-posts of travel, to be encount- 
ered in the experience of every one, assure 
the world that all is easy intercourse and 
friendly affability on shipboard. Is it so, 
2 


indeed f Fain would we behold the fellow- 
passenger possessing sufficient temerity to 
address Mrs. Pierman, hedged about by a 
supercilious disdain of manner, the rich India 
shawl, the services of a French maid, and a 
gold vinaigrette, especially after that sleep- 
less night in the stifling box of a cabin. 

Her thoughts were not of the people 
around her, as she lounged there with half- 
closed eyes. The funny man told stories, 
passing from group to group, but Mrs. Pier- 
man did not smile, although her husband, 
leaning against the bulwark smoking his 
cigar, laughed heartily now and then. The 
English commercial traveler played shuffle- 
board with the cynical Frenchman, who was 
turning his back on the States with a shrug 
of disdain; and the steerage — divided by 
the rope which rigidly marks social distinc- 
tions — watched the game listlessly, pipe in 
mouth, or with faded shawl gathered over an 
unkempt head. Mrs. Pierman heeded none 
of these things ; even the disagreeable ren- 
counter with Miss Nancy, which revived old 
and painful memories, lost effect amidst 
weightier considerations. Nancy belonged 
to the past, the fading, irrevocable past. 
Mrs. Pierman had made her own way in the 
world, and must still further attain certain 
ends. She chose to consider that her hus- 
band had no part in their elevation. Her 
money and her ambition had made the house 
of Pierman ; not his skill as a practitioner, 
or character as a man. 

All her watchfulness centred on the near- 
est door leading to the cabin, and three 
chairs, labeled respectively L. C.,” in white 
paint, were placed as if by accident beside 
her own. Persons on board the Acts wffio 
were ignorant of social distinctions, or who 
revolved in other smaller orbits of their own, 
might not have appreciated the importance 
those two letters had always possessed in 
Mrs. Pierman’s creed. C.” had meant 

to her : climb higher, make a place for your- 
self and your children at the summit, even 
at the expense of money, thought, and wear 
of nerve-tissue, these ten years. In a word, 
be stamped as belonging to the choice circle 
of Mrs. Longue ville Cocks, and rest supreme- 
ly content ever afterward. 

Mrs. Pierman, a haggard woman who sel- 
dom rested, was perpetually goaded from 
one exertion to another by an unflagging 
spirit, and then pitied herself for her multi- 
plied cares. She had earned many a nerv- 
ous headache in scheming fresh manoeuvres 
whereby to attract the eye of Mrs. Cocks, 
and without success ; for the latter lady, by 
virtue of having been born a Miss Bagatelle, 
acted as amused herself, was an eccentric 
patron of art, imported foreign customs, and 
indulged in caprices impossible to the envi- 
ous. Behold, here they were brought togeth- 
er on shipboard ! Carelessly had Mrs. Pier- 
man arranged those chairs labeled L. C. next 


18 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


to her own ; eagerly did she watcli the door, 
wonderiug^if Mrs. Cocks would soon appear. 

To whom will you he indebted for your 
own work one of these days, Mrs. Pierman ? 
Festina lente was not the code of this fever- 
ish, irritable woman, who w^as incapable of 
checking the speed of these later years. She 
would not now turn back if she could. • 

Down-stairs, in cabin No. 15, Miss Nancy 
was donning her water-proof cloak prepara- 
tory to emerging on deck. 

You do not intend to wear that dress on 
shipboard, my dear?” she said to Blanche, in 
accents of astonishment. 

That young lady was attired in purple 
velvet, with bewildering trimmings of silk 
and fur. 

Oh, this old thing ! Why, it is my last 
winter’s suit, and will be entirely out of 
fashion this year. We shall buy all our 
dresses in Paris before we return home, you 
know.” 

Miss Blanche put on a scarlet hood, just 
edged with a snowy fluify down about her 
blooming face, and gave her raiment a care- 
less adjustment. The night had not robbed 
either of these two of rest or good humor. 
Already they were firm friends, and Miss 
Nancy had patiently listened to innumerable 
confidences from her room-mate which were 
apt to die away in unintelligible, drowsy 
murmurs on the pillow above her head as 
the soft, childish lips finally closed in slum- 
ber. A vision of Margaret rose before Miss 
Nancy’s remembrance at these evidences of 
extravagance in the daughter, literally born 
to the purple in her own estimation. In 
those old days at Briarbush, Margaret, the 
carpenter’s child, had done well to obtain 
a faded muslin for summer Sundays, much 
starched and ironed. 

Miss Nancy’s resentment for this prank of 
fate in bringing them together had merged 
into interested speculation concerning John’s 
daughter. She never could resist a young 
girl’s face. 

The scarlet hood was tied with a distract- 
ing little bow under a dimpled chin, and 
Miss Pierman turned back to remark, in a 
tone of triumphant conviction. 

There is a handsome young man on 
board.” 

Only one handsome young man ?” que- 
ried Miss Nancy, with a smile. 

I have discovered one. He has beauti- 
ful gray eyes and a flaxen mustache. He 
looks like a poet, or a German. Oh, I do 
hate Americans abroad, who are lank and 
awkward, and wear beards like a goat to 
make their faces sharper and longer ! How 
funny we must look to other people. Miss 
Hawse !” 

^^We are what God has made us,” said 
Miss Nancy. 

Yes,” dubiously ; ^^but don’t yon think 
we have something to do with our own ap- 


pearance as well? God must have better 
occupation than noticing the fashion of 
men’s beards. There, don’t look shocked: 
I did not mean to be irreverent, only I al- 
ways say whatever comes into my head. 
Guess what the name of my young man is.” 

The German youth ? You have learned 
that already, then.” 

Blanche laughed, and blushed a little, then 
put two slender hands over her own shell- 
like ears, safely hidden by the scarlet hood. 

‘^Oue can not help hearing things some- 
times. How does Mr. Denby sound, for in- 
stance ?” 

It is not of so much importance how Mr. 
Denby sounds, my dear, as what Mr. Den- 
by actually is,” replied Miss Nancy, in her 
school-marm tone of admonition. 

Don’t preach, please,” said Blanche, en- 
treatingly, and held up her sweet face to be 
kissed with the aspect of one sure of re- 
sponse. 

How irresistibly winning John’s daughter 
was! Miss Nancy raised the dimpled cbin, 
and searched the face intently, as if in such 
a miniature fresh from the hand of nature 
she might find traces of those earlier days 
with the aid of memory. Her heart gave a 
little throb of exultation : there was no re- 
semblance to Margaret Harrison’s aquiline 
features discernible, but John’s eyes, quick, 
flashing, mirthful, as iu the old school-days 
of rambles after blackberries, and John’s 
mouth, smaller, more refined, with the flex- 
ible curves. 

“You are a dear old thing; and I seem 
to have always known you,” observed the 
youth, with a charming audacity. “Per- 
haps it is because you and mamma were 
friends so long ago.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Miss Nancy, quietly. 

Then they went on deck, and were caught 
in the eddy incident to the appearance of 
Mrs. Longueville Cocks at the very same mo- 
ment. 

Mrs. Pierman, watching keenly the cabin- 
door with increasing irritability of disap- 
pointment, first beheld an elderly man-serv- 
ant laden with shawls and rugs fly through 
the portal, in a lurch of the vessel, and bring 
up against the bulwark, where he succeeded 
in collapsing two camp-chairs with their oc- 
cupants by the suddenness of his advent. 
Next appeared a prim maid with a long 
waist and a sour visage, supporting Mrs. 
Cocks, while the stewardess closed up the 
rear with a glass of iced lemonade. Mrs. 
Cocks was a stout lady, with a pretty, in- 
fantile face, a double chin, and snowy hair 
piled high over a cushion in the Russian 
style, which, with further addition of bon- 
net, feathers, and bows, gave her the appear- 
ance of having a head much too large for her 
body. 

Nowhere is Mammon worshiped more pro- 
foundly than on shipboard. Simultaneous- 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


19 


ly the first surgeon and the captain made 
obsequious inquiry as to the condition of 
Mrs. Cocks’s health ; simultaneously Dr. 
Pier man and one of the previously col- 
lapsed ones rushed to adjust the great lady’s 
chair. Rumor had already dealt with Mrs. 
Cocks’s affairs — her man-servant, her maid- 
servant, the amount of luggage she carried, 
the probabilities of her being a millionaire 
at the very least, and how her hair was 
bleached in Paris. 

She was a Bagatelle, you know,” every 
one said to every one else, and nobody dared 
either to question the fact, or profess igno- 
rance of how it might seem to have been 
born one of that distinguished family. 

Dimpling with ready smiles, Mrs. Cocks 
seated herself beside Mrs. Pierman, and re- 
sponded to the latter’s greeting most gra- 
ciously. Oh yes, she recalled Mrs. Pier- 
man perfectly; they were introduced at 
the Bangses’ ball. Did Mrs. Pierman know 
if poor dear Mrs. Bangs still suffered from 
those frightful headaches ? J ust then a plain 
woman approached, and said. 

Good -morning, Margaret; I hope you 
slept well last night.” 

Take this chair, Nancy,” urged Dr. Pier- 
man, cordially ; and before his wife could 
possibly interpose, our traveler, who had ad- 
dressed Mrs. Pierman by her first name, was 
made one of the party. 

Not that Mrs. Pierman introduced Miss 
Nancy. Bless you, no ! She had far too 
much savoir faire to betray that mark of ig- 
norance, and suffered our poor school-mis- 
tress to feel the intrusion of her presence, 
her companions to hedge about in a desul- 
tory conversation if disposed, ignorant of 
each other’s name or identity. Nothing can 
be more charmingly adopted to render hu- 
man beings uncomfortable and ill at ease 
than this rule of etiquette. Mrs. Cocks only 
increased the anxiety of Mrs. Pierman by 
dimpling and smiling on Miss Nancy in a 
kindly and re-assuring manner. Good heav- 
ens! did the great lady imagine that Nan- 
cy was a member of the Pierman family, and 
that she must therefore be polite to her ? 

The pretty scarlet hood had appeared on 
deck ; two young men hovered about Mrs. 
Cocks’s chair, and she, with a gesture of one 
fat little hand, presented them to Miss Pier- 
man. Mr. Rockwell Cocks, a very English- 
looking young American, and Mr. Denby 
bowed. Why did the bright face under 
the hood gain additional color at the greet- 
ing ? Instantly Miss Nancy looked up, and 
encountered a glance of suppressed merri- 
ment in a x>air of fine gray eyes on the part 
of the owner of the blonde mustache. Was 
this Blanche’s hero ? Why did he smile at 
her (Miss Nancy) in that peculiar way ? To 
sit on a borrowed chair, with Mrs. Pierman’s 
eye fixed disapprovingly on her for some 
unknown reason, and talk with a lady of 


whose name she was ignorant, was scarcely 
calculated to make Miss Nancy happy. She 
longed to escape to a quiet corner and be 
alone, had such a move been consistent with 
politeness. Dr. Pierman, perceiving her em- 
barrassment, came to the rescue. 

Will you take a morning walk, Nancy 
he inquired, cheerfully ; and she gladly con- 
sented to be led away to the upper deck. 

The crowd did not allow of her escape, 
however, before she heard Mrs. Pierman’s 
rather overanxious explanation : 

^‘She is an old friend of my husband’s 
from the country — a school- mistress. We 
meet quite by accident here.” 

Ah !” returned Mrs. Cocks, some of these 
country school-marms are so immensely clev- 
er and well read ; they put us of the cities 
quite to shame by their superior knowledge.” 

Yes,” assented Mrs. Pierman, doubtfully. 

Miss Nancy colored, and bit her lips ; she 
was half minded to withdraw her hand from 
Dr. Pierman’s arm, but he held it fast. It 
was hard for father’s daughter to be termed 
only a school-mistress out in the world, and 
by a carpenter’s offspring at that ! The gen- 
tle distinction and deference accorded to the 
minister and his family had fostered in Nan- 
cy a degree of amour propre sadly ruffled by 
Mrs. Pierman’s slighting words. Did John 
notice the remark ? There was a slight 
frown on his brow, yet Nancy could not 
read his thoughts clearly. The novel situ- 
ation was not without embarrassment also. 
Here were a man and woman who had once 
sworn, in the glow of youth, to love each 
other, who had been separated by fate, and 
now met again w'ith more constraint than 
mere strangers. They paced the upper 
deck, passing the huge boilers — the gratings 
revealing fiery depths, where dusky shapes, 
like demons, wrangled and shouted and toil- 
ed over the furnaces — and conversed on in- 
different subjects. The man who had gone 
forth to win himself a niche in the world 
had not yet reverted to Briarbush and that 
sealed book of mutual estrangement. He 
had inquired after the minister’s health. 

He is dead,” Nancy had answered, with 
a tremor in her firm voice. 

He had heard the tidings in absolute si- 
lence, all conventional formulas of condo- 
lence failing on his lips. Did he see him- 
self, a careless boy, wandering with father 
in the woods, seeking the shy wild flowers 
and fragile ferns, before care or thought 
drew the lines on his face, and silvered the 
hair about his temples ? This lack of re- 
sponse did not offend Nancy : in the depths 
of her soul, she understood, fathomed it. 

Had they met on shore, the chances were 
that each would have avoided the other with 
a degree of cowardice in shrinking from the 
disagreeable encounter. They might have 
lived in the same street as next-door neigh- 
bors for years, and the boundary of mutual 


20 


MISS NANCrS PILGEIMAGE. 


reserve not have been passed. Here all was 
different, and after the first day propinqui- 
ty ceased to he painful, for other, softer in- 
fluences were at work. Dr. Pierman had 
led a busy life, absorbed in the studies of his 
profession, and driven into society by that 
little stinging lash of Mrs. Pierman’s rest- 
less ambition. Insensibly he was drawn 
into that swift current down which she was 
hastening : he must be rich, great, powerful. 
He was proud of his wife and his children ; 
he was absorbed by a thousand cares ; the 
image of Nancy Hawse, a folly of his boy- 
hood, associated with pique and distrust, 
was set aside in weariness, and forgotten. 
When Blanche was put into his arms, a rosy 
baby, dimpling with smiles, he had wonder- 
ed, with a scornful exultation, if the first- 
born of the pair at Briarbush would possess 
such beauty. 

Baylis is a good fellow, but very plain. 
Well, she made her own choice,” he had 
said, and kissed the baby^s cheek, soft as a 
rose-leaf. 

On board the Ads he had the leisure 
which would not have been vouchsafed him 
at home to consider the affairs of his old 
sweetheart. Nancy had not married the 
rich mill-owner’s son. He would have liked 
to question her on the mystery, only delica- 
cy and something in the gray eyes of the 
middle-aged woman withheld him. Mrs. 
Pierman had been questioned by her hus- 
band quickly, and a trifle sternly. 

Why did not Nancy Hawse marry as you 

said 

How should I know ?” retorted the lady, 
flushing angrily. I presume she grew wea- 
ry of the bargain, and withdrew, unless he 
did.” 

Nothing more was said between husband 
and wife, and Mrs. Pierman had retired to 
one of her sleepless nights afterward on the 
shelf of a berth. 

Walking now on the upper deck, he 
thought of the matter, as he explained 
routes of travel to his companion. The 
scarlet hood moved hither and thither, ac- 
cording to the impulse of the gay wearer, 
who claimed the homage of Rockwell Cocks 
and Mr. Denby, with the security of merry 
eighteen. 

Mont Cenis is certainly the best route,” 
said Dr. Pierman, pausing by the railing to 
watch his daughter with a smile of lenient 
admiration. 

I have thought of going via Marseilles,” 
said Miss Nancy, also smiling at the wearer 
of the scarlet hood, who was toying with a 
flower for which l3oth her cavaliers were 
pleading in the half -jesting, half- earnest 
way two young men may assume when ri- 
valry gives a spicy flavor to the contest. 

The girl’s manner was a revelation, amus- 
ing and startling to the self-absorbed father. 
Blanche, the child who ran to meet him at 


night, who perched on his knee and begged 
new toys, with ready trick of gesture and 
arch glances, was undeniably flirting with 
mankind. His child had escaped from the 
chrysalis of home, and was already spread- 
ing the rainbow-tinted pinions of her maid- 
enhood. 

^^It makes me feel old,” said John Pier- 
man, half absently, and yet with the once- 
familiar feeling stealing back that talking 
with Nancy was but thinking aloud. 

We must all learn to make way for an- 
other generation,” returned Nancy, in a low 
tone of musing. To her this being set aside 
for the new race had a keener pang, both 
from her womanhood and her lonely condi- 
tion. 

The demons wrangled in the fiery depths 
below the grating, the machinery throbbed. 
An old gentleman, wrapped in a gray coat, 
paced the dock restlessly, presenting to Miss 
Nancy at every turn a sharp, thin nose of un- 
usual length, a keen, quick eye, and a silver- 
ed y andyck beard. Pretty Blanche, after co- 
quetting about her rose-bud with the two 
cavaliers, ran up to this old gentleman, and 
presented it to him instead. Then she ac- 
cepted the arm of Mr. Rockwell Cocks, and 
tripped away with never a ba-ckward glance 
at the golden mustache she had professed to 
admire in the cabin only an hour ago. 

‘‘ The sly puss !” exclaimed Dr. Pierman. 

He raised his hat to the old gentleman in 
gray, who was adjusting the trophy in his 
button-hole with a frosty smile. 

That person is a millionaire ; and a great 
card it is to have him travel by this line,” he 
added, in explanation to Miss Nancy. 

Noting the sharp features, the Vandyck 
beard, the stooping figure, and shabby felt 
hat, she returned, 

I should esteem him a very insignificant 
man in appearance.” 

Dr. Pierman smoothed his mustache. 

It does not always serve to judge by ap- 
pearance in this world. Our shabby fellow- 
traveler could buy us all up, I suspect.” 

What is he ?” demanded Miss Nancy. 

“ Oh, every thing in one individual — rail- 
way king, stock-jobber, land-owner, rentier, 
and banker,” replied Dr. Pierman. 

She could never explain her impulse, but 
Miss Nancy turned once more to observe the 
old gentleman in gray, who wore Blanche’s 
rose-bud, and he returned her glance with the 
sweeping criticism of one used to the study 
of physiognomy. Dr. Pierman’s next words 
were uttered in the low, musing key Nancy 
had recently adopted. 

I remember the roses which grew about 
your grandmother’s door. How sweet they 
were — old-fashioned damask roses !” 

The vine is dead also,” said Nancy, stead- 
ily, and gazed at the horizon-line of leaden 
waters. 

The second young gentleman, Mr. Denby, 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


21 


had joined the millionaire in his promenade 
with such grace as he might muster when 
left behind by a young lady. 

there is another decent -looking girl 
on board, I will devote myself to her next 
time,” he decided, quite fiercely, watchiug 
the scarlet hood with the most unreasonable 
resentment. 

Again the old man in the gray coat smiled, 
like a gleam of sun on the windows of a de- 
serted house. 

Dr. Pierman and his companion were re- 
called from the upper deck by a catastrophe. 

The Big Boy is in every condition of life 
a loadstone, a star of exalted aspiration to 
the juvenile mind, to be followed and imi- 
tated with ardor by all the little men per- 
mitted to bask in his glory. On board the 
Acis the Big Boy was chubby, with stout legs 
incased in knickerbockers, and many metal- 
lic buttons on his raiment. He wore his cap 
with a knowing air ; his ruddy fiez retrousse 
was always elevated, as if scenting fresh per- 
ils into which to drag his infatuated satel- 
lites; his merry eyes were brimming with 
mischief; he was always hungry, and his 
spirits never flagged. Master Tommy Pier- 
man followed this illustrious leader like a 
somnambulist. If the Big Boy climbed to 
the bridge and hung himself head downward 
like a monkey, the contents of his pockets 
raining on the deck below. Master Tommy 
did likewise. The Big Boy made playful 
lunges at the deck stewards, and Tommy re- 
ceived the scalding soup on his shoulders. 
The leader ascended the rigging, while the 
satellite, clutching the ropes, began to cry, 
and had to be ingloriously rescued by a sail- 
or, while the Big Boy danced a jig, hands in 
pockets, and laughed cruelly at such cow- 
ardice. Had the Big Boy led the way down 
one of the boilers as the crater of a volcano. 
Tommy would have followed if only to in- 
crease the smoke. The novelty of the field, 
or the vanity acquired by success in all his 
perilous deeds, led the Big Boy to feel that 
the eye of the world was upon him. 

While Mrs. Pierman and Mrs. Cocks con- 
versed affably, reclining in their large chairs, 
a shadow passed over them unheeded; it 
was the Big Boy extended along a beam like 
a frog, working his way in an acrobatic fash- 
ion to no given point in particular, with 
much expenditure of muscular force. Had 
not Mrs. Pierman been absorbed, she might 
have been alarmed by the expression in her 
son’s eye. With dogged determination, Tom- 
my sprung at the post, and launched himself 
on a new task. Little scarlet legs followed 
the sturdy blue legs with desperate valor. 

You can’t do it, young ’un,” observed the 
Big Boy, tauntingly, and seated himself on 
a cross-bar to rest. 

^^See if I don’t!” cried Tommy, shrilly, 
and breathing hard. 

Lo! the small scarlet legs scaled the 


height, slipped, and with a very frightened 
face Master Pierman slid rapidly down the 
post until he landed precisely on the head 
of Mrs. Lougueville Cocks. Horrible acci- 
dent ! Why of all heads did the enfant ter- 
rible select that one, ornamented with bows, 
ribbons, and plumes, owned by the great 
lady ? Mrs. Cocks was for the moment ex- 
tinguished; the chair, rugs, and shawls top- 
pled over in inextricable confusion : the 
sour maid with a long waist rushed to the 
rescue ; the care-worn man-servant, who had 
withdrawn to a box behind the cabin-door 
and the discussion of a glass of beer, was 
summoned in all haste. When Mrs. Cocks 
emerged to view, her infantile placidity was 
gone, her countenance suffused, her charm- 
ing white hair awry. She received Mrs. 
Pierman’s profuse apologies with a degree 
of hauteur, and, motioning her people to 
gather up her wraps, withdrew. 

I didn’t mean to,” whimpered Tommy. 

In the mean while the Big Boy sat ux^ aloft 
grinning, and when a favorable opportunity 
occurred he formed a trumpet of his hands, 
and ejaculated, I told you so, young ’un 1” 

The sorrows of childhood are short-lived, 
however. Before Mrs. Cocks had restored 
her demolished coiffure with the aid of her 
maid below stairs. Tommy had dried his eyes 
on his jacket-cuff, and was edging along on 
the wooden partition which divided the glass 
sky-light above the saloon table. This x>er- 
formance required the nicest adjustment of 
balance ; a rope-dancer might have achieved 
it, and the Big Boy had nearly passed in 
safety. What more natural than that Tom- 
my’s heel should slip at a critical moment, 
and he clutching at the Big Boy for support, 
they both should disappear through the sky- 
light amidst a crash of glass, like Harlequin 
in the pantomime? This was the climax 
which brought Dr. Pierman down from the 
upper deck amidst a general uproar. Mas- 
ter Tommy appeared no more that day. He 
was rumored to be uninjured, save for a few 
bruises, and was subsequently held in dur- 
ance vile in his own cabin. 

The Big Boy emerged with a few scratches 
and unimpaired cheerfulness. 

I never did it ; he grabbed me ; that’s 
all,” protested the leader, and walked away, 
whistling blithely, in search of new advent- 
ures. 

Mrs. Pierman greeted her husband, tears 
of anger in her eyes. 

Will you inquire for Mrs. Cocks, if you 
can leave the society of Nancy Hawse long 
enough,” she asked, sharply. 

How can you be so unreasonable, Mar- 
garet ?” he said, soothingly. 

No doubt she was nervous, and shocked 
by Tommy’s accident ; the other supposition 
was too absurd. Miss Nancy ai^proached in 
all haste, and was snubbed by the humili- 
ated mother. 


22 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


The old man in the gray coat still wore 
Blanche’s rose in Ms button-hole ; Mr. Den- 
hy watched the scarlet hood move about 
with Rockwell Cocks ; and after Tommy’s 
condition was reported there was peace. 

Thus the day wore on, and the Acts moved 
steadily forward with all the power of steam, 
and neither sky nor sea gave warning of ap- 
proaching doom. 


CHAPTER IV. 

TWO YOUNG MEN. 

Another morning dawned cold and raw, 
without sunshine, and the mist -enveloped 
horizon still denoted the vicinity of ice- 
fields. Blanche Pierman, in her purple-vel- 
vet jacket and little red hood, stood alone, 
grasping a railing for support, and swaying 
lightly to the motions of the ship ; the wind 
sweeping aside her draperies now and then, 
as if purposely to play the mad prank of re- 
vealing a pair of tiny feet neatly shod. The 
girl looked very pretty in her bright-tinted 
dress, a soft bloom stole into her cheeks in 
the fresh air, and all the roguish glee of in- 
nocent good-humor, perfect health, untram- 
meled mind and heart, lurked in the depths 
of her brown eyes. They were changeful, 
gleaming eyes, lacking repose and steadi- 
ness, devoid of that full, large sincerity of 
expression which can never be accepted as 
indicating honesty of character after one 
has encountered the limpid, unfaltering Ital- 
ian gaze, but with transient golden lights 
and sparkles like the surface of a brook 
winding beneath the shadow of a hill. Rob- 
bed of her silken plumage, Blanche would 
have been described as a slim girl with a 
fair skin and a pair of big eyes. 

Observing her swaying there alone and 
unprotected, what more natural than that 
Howard Denby, also taking a morning walk 
before breakfast, should hasten to the res- 
cue? 

^^Good-morning, Miss Pierman. You are 
also an early riser, it seems,” he said, ap- 
proaching her. 

You see me at my best, then,” laughed 
Blanche, the large eyes scintillating with 
those slumbering lights. I am not famous 
for that virtue at home, Mr. Denby; but 
one can not sleep all the time at sea.” 

^‘Will you take a walk on the upper 
deck?” offering his arm. 

Yes, with pleasure, only how cold and 
forlorn it is !” laying a small hand incased 
in lavender kid on his sleeve. Other peo- 
ple have perpetual sunshine on the voyage. 
I wish that we could be favored with an 
iceberg, at least.” 

Do not say so, even in jest,” replied the 
young man, with a slight shudder. None 
of us know the awful mysteries shrouding 


the passage of these crystal towers over the 
ocean.” 

Perhaps he was fond of influencing other 
young minds by the coloring of his own 
thoughts. There is a charm in being able 
to replace a smile by a frown, or the gravity 
of kindling alarm. Howard Denby was nei- 
ther a sombre nor a morbid youth; the re- 
mark might have escaped him unawares, 
carelessly; and so sensitive a nerve-tissue 
is vanity, ever ready to kindle into flaming 
jealousy in a young man, that one of tliose 
little cross threads of whim, such as Blanche’s 
acceptance of the escort of Rockwell Cocks 
the previous day, may have clouded gayety. 
He felt the comparison more keenly than 
the occasion warranted, because he had need 
to accept life seriously. Some sage has pro- 
nounced poverty a shirt of fire ; certainly 
proud poverty detects slights in the inso- 
lent, and chafes over neglects never intend- 
ed. Now, Howard Denby was very poor in- 
deed. 

Blanche was undaunted ; the color bloom- 
ed deejoer in her cheeks, she clung- with 
pretty confidence to the arm of her escort; 
and the tiny feet were well outlined, arched 
instep and slender ankle freed by the ruder 
winds of the upper deck from the conceal- 
ing robe. 

I am determined not to regard the ice- 
berg in that gloomy fashion,” she said, mer- 
rily, with her ever-ready, rippling laughter, 
which was infectious in gayety and musical 
to the ear. If I could only see one kind- 
ling in the sunset with lovely hues — for in- 
stance, rose color at the summit, and melt- 
ing to pale-blue tints at the base — I would 
make it my fairy castle, and sail away in it 
over the seas.” The brilliant eyes grew 
dark, clouded, wistful. 

“Would you sail away alone?” queried 
Mr. Denby, smiling. 

Blanche’s mouth assumed demure down- 
ward curves. 

“I would take my father and mother,” 
she answered, gravely. 

“Any one else?” with a roguish glance. 

“ Possibly Miss Nancy Hawse, my room- 
mate.” 

“ Might not a German or a poet be added 
to the select company in the frozen para- 
dise ?” 

Blanche glanced up at him with quick 
suspicion. Where had he heard that be- 
fore? 

“ Oh dear, no,” she replied, promptly, and 
studied him askance. 

Fancy may poise on gauzy wings, even 
above the gratings redolent of hot oil, and 
noisy with the strife of demons in glowing 
depths below. Howard Denby stooped over 
his companion from his tall height, and said, 
softly, 

“ I should like to be one of your guests.” 

Harmless jest and banter! Insidious 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


23 


sweetness of propinquity, delicious suggest- 
iveness of thought veiled in small talk. It 
was a handsome face, unnecessarily hand- 
some for a man, Blanche decided, as she 
considered that her own sex should monop- 
olize all beauty, with that transparent pu- 
rity of complexion which belonged to the 
yellow hair and mustache and gray eyes, 
where little of boyish insouciance remained 
to twenty-five. She felt a thrill of won- 
der, and interest born of curiosity, at the 
outset ; then the golden lights sparkled up 
in her eyes, like effervescent bubbles rising 
from the clear depths of a forest spring, and 
she answered, archly, 

Would you choose to come — surely not 
without an invitation, though 

Here was the very trick of expression 
which had amazed her father on the pre- 
vious day. She had talked sheer nonsense 
with Rockwell Cocks — indeed, the average 
small talk of the world is such — but here was 
nonsense fraught with some subtle meaning, 
intangible, evanescent, scarcely to be con- 
sidered a reality. Possibly Fancy, hovering 
there, just brushed the two young people 
wfith her radiant pinions then. 

At this moment the Young Lady appear- 
ed, and claimed Mr. Denby’s attention with 
sparkling vivacity of manner. The Young 
Lady, like the Big Boy, was a feature on board 
the Acis^ and Howard Deuby, smarting under 
that defection of the scarlet hood yesterday, 
had fallen into the toils of the siren, who 
had not afterward permitted his escape. 
The Young Lady knew every body, had been 
everywhere, was always on the wing, there 
being no rest for the sole of her foot on this 
earth’s surface ; and she usually headed the 
list of fashionable arrivals in several differ- 
ent portions of the temperate zone annual- 
ly. Her hair was of a reddish gold, suggest- 
ive of copper solutions, and tied in a cue be- 
hind ; her complexion bore traces of many 
campaigns beneath the gas-light ; her waist, 
of agonizing smallness, sloped outward to 
shoulders of fine breadth, usually shrugged 
with cynical indifference; and she never 
moved without a waft of perfume, and 
dragging a serpentine train of rich fabric 
behind her. Her toilets came from Worth, 
her furs from Siberia, her cameos from Ven- 
ice, her lace from the Ghetto, her ame- 
thysts from Regent Street. In a word, the 
Young Lady was a successful creature, who 
openly scoffed at her own sex as bores, 
yawning at the matrons, and detesting 
school -girls, while she was never happy 
without one or more gentlemen in attend- 
ance. Her celebrity was something worth 
attaining; she scorned matrimony without 
•being strong-minded ; and she was known to 
have declined an eligible offer in order to 
make her first tour around the world. 

Good-morning, Mr. Denby,” she cried, in 
her high, clear voice ; I will wager that 


your friend Rockwell Cocks has not yet 
risen even to brandy - and - soda, after late 
hours in the smoking-room. Oh, you naughty 
men ! how I envy you those evenings in the 
snug quarters allotted you, while we poor 
women may bestow ourselves anywhere. 
How are you. Miss Pierman ?” 

The Young Lady was never at a loss for 
a name, and if she had kept a secretary to 
register her floating debt of acquaintances, 
the position would have been no sinecure. 
Blanche responded stiffly. What right had 
the Young Lady to join them in that fashion, 
and claim the attention of Howard Denby ? 
Indeed, she seemed only to await Blanche’s 
departure to take his arm, and move away 
with him. 

Perhaps she has more claim on his con- 
sideration than I have,” thought the little 
maid, hotly ; and then the picture of Rock- 
well Cocks sleeping off last night’s late 
hours in the smoking-room came before her 
with painful vividness. 

Had he been drunk like the men she had 
seen reeling in the streets ? Shocking idea ! 
The Young Lady had mentioned braudy-and- 
soda as if the beverage were morning milk 
or spring water. 

Do not allow me to detain you ; I see 
papa,” said Blanche, with sudden hauteui'j 
and crossed the deck to receive Dr. Pier- 
man’s morning salutation. 

^WVhat a stiff little i)iece!” observed the 
conquering siren, gazing reflectively after 
her rival, and then slipped her hand through 
Mr. Denby ’s arm with a degree of triumph 
in her victory. ‘^All misses just out of 
school are like that, however.” 

think her very lovely,” observed How- 
ard Denby, gravely. 

‘^Ah, blows the wind in that quarter, my 
friend ?” said the Young Lady, with a shrug 
of amusement. 

She felt no particular animosity toward 
Blanche, she had merely set the younger 
girl aside for her own pleasure, and a vast 
experience had taught her means whereby 
to achieve such an end. She never doubted 
for a moment Mr. Denby ’s preference for her 
own accomplished society : school-giiis were 
so tame and insipid. This comfortable 
panoply of self-conceit buoyed up the Young 
Lady in angry waters oftentimes, when she 
would otherwise have felt the sharp contact 
of underlying rocks. Blanche ran over to 
her father, like the child she was. 

Papa, they say that Rockwell Cocks 
drank too much wine last night. Is it true, 
dear ?” she inquired, eagerly. 

Dr. Pierman took his daughter in his 
arms — they were concealed by the smoke- 
stack — and kissed her. 

I think ill of young people who repeat 
idle tales to my darling,” he said, in a dis- 
approving tone. No doubt such gossip is 
false.” 


24 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


You disbelieve it V’ questioned Blanche, 
who was unaccountably shocked and star- 
tled, nestling closer to him. 

“Of course I do. Some tattling non- 
sense !” And Dr. Pierman, on whom Howard 
Denby had previously made only the vaguest 
impression, forthwith formed an unfavora- 
ble opinion of that young man. What right 
had the intimate friend of Rockwell Cocks 
to gossip with girls about him ? Such con- 
duct was simply contemptible. The kind 
father resented having the innocence of his 
child’s youth rudely dispelled. Tommy 
must fall through sky-lights, and scramble 
up again as best he might, being a boy ; but 
the delicate bloom, the folded petals of 
Blanche’s maidenhood must be religiously 
guarded in a tender and wise protection, if 
she was actually grown up, a fact he was 
reluctant to believe. 

The girl took his hand between both of 
her own, and kissed it impulsively. 

“You old darling!” she said, softly. 
“There is no man in the world as good as 
my own father.” 

Dr. Pierman did not in the least object to 
this adoring homage. 

An hour later Blanche Pierman was seat- 
ed at breakfast next Miss Nancy, and aston- 
ished that lady by the shrewd worldly wis- 
dom of her observations. The Young Lady 
entered drawing off her gloves, and paused 
to greet the first-officer in a hail-fellow-well- 
met fashion. Howard Denby followed, and 
looked anxiously toward a certain little 
head crowned with rippling brown hair ; but 
the owner, Blanche, kept her eyes fixed on 
her plate. 

“ How nice it would be if one could make 
the world all over according to one’s own 
fancy!” said Blanche, presently, poising a 
morsel of roll meditatively, as if weighing 
the matter in a balance. 

“ Convert the rivers into mountains, and 
the valleys into seas,” suggested Miss Nancy, 
taking a geographical view of the subject. 

“ You dear, tiresome school-mistress !” re- 
sponded Blanche, elevating her eyebrows. 

The rivers and mountains are well enough!” 

“You are good to be satisfied with the 
present distribution of such matters,” inter- 
posed Miss Nancy, ironically. 

“Do not blight my poor little efforts at 
conversation with sarcasm,” pursued Blanche. 
“ I have no fault to find with our globe ; it 
is the people who inhabit it, voyez-voiis f ’ 

“Ah, my dear, how I wish you could cure 
all the wickedness !” said Miss Nancy, with a 
sigh of regret. 

“I would make all the good and hand- 
some people rich — oh, so very rich ! and the 
bad, mean, homely people should all be beg- 
gars,” said Blanche, blithely. 

“ Do you care for riches ?” inquired Miss 
Nancy, in her tone of admonition. 

“ Oh yes, indeed ! We can not live with- 


out money, you know,” responded the soft 
rosy lips. 

“We need to be fed and clothed, I sup- 
pose you mean,” said Miss Nancy, stoutly. 
“I can not believe that you would really 
value gold in respect to persons, and in com- 
parison with better, higher aims.” 

“ For instance f ’ asked Blanche, perverse- 
ly, elevating her chin a trifle. 

“ Well, for instance : you would not con- 
sider wealth in love or marriage.” 

“ Oh, but I should ! I could never mar- 
ry a man without money,” said the worldly 
wisdom of eighteen. 

“ You are jesting,” replied Miss Nancy, 
soberly. “I can not believe that you are 
so silly in an earnest mood.” 

Blanche regarded her with dilating, as- 
tonished eyes, and a scarcely perceptible 
bridling of the neck. Silly ! This was the 
creed in which her mother was rearing her. 
No doubt Miss Nancy dwelt in Arcadia, and 
fed on milk and honey. Still, she colored, 
and was silent. At eighteen one does not 
relish being accused of allowing one’s tongue 
to run away with one’s wits, especially by 
an elder. 

“I advise you to try the cutlets,” said 
Dr. Pierman, across the table. “ How ear- 
nestly you two converse ! May I be taken 
into your confidence ?” 

He liked to see his daughter with Nancy, 
especially as his wife did not appear in the 
morning, and a part of the fatality of this 
meeting on board the Ads was that the same 
table was apportioned to these once friends, 
and there was no escape for the traveler 
from Briarbush save in the seclusion of her 
berth, or the precarious ministrations of a 
deck steward. Accordingly, Miss Nancy 
stood by her guns, and sat opposite Mar- 
garet Pierman during interminable dinners 
which the latter spent in disdaining the 
viands, and scrutinizing her vis-a-vis with 
that balf- absent contemplation which the 
object feels in the spinal marrow. 

Blanche rallied her spirits quickly. 

“Miss Hawse was saying, papa, that she 
had never met your equal,” she said, rogu- 
ishly. 

“I am flattered,” replied Dr. Pierman, 
flushing slightly. 

A wave of color swept over i^oor Miss 
Nancy’s throat and cheeks. 

“How can you be so mischievous?” she 
faltered, aghast at this unexpected bit of 
fun. 

“What have I done ?” exclaimed Blanche. 
“How oddly you both appear! Oh, my 
wicked tongue !” 

Constrained silence succeeded, the sharp 
young eyes searching the two elderly faces. 
There was a hum of voices, the clash of 
crockery, stewards moving about in the 
steam of the dishes they bore, and every 
now and then the sea dashed against the 


MISS NANCY’S 

closed port -holes, aud the contents of the 
tables were hurled from side to side. The 
British nobleman in rough tweed garments, 
and his wife in water - proof Ulster, sipped 
their tea quietly in one corner. The En- 
glish author, about to publish his opinion of 
the States, made mental notes of the com- 
pany over a boiled egg. The loquacious 
Congressman, who had passed a bill last 
session at the expense of his bronchial tubes, 
conversed fluently with the bishop who as- 
pired to preaching a sermon in Westminster 
Abbey. Howard Deuby, placed by fate at 
the antipodes — the other extremity of the 
saloon — caught occasional glimpses of the 
bright little head as it turned with bird-like 
curves from side to side. How had he of- 
fended Blanche? He was acutely alive to 
Dr. Pierman’s cold greeting also. 

Avoiding the young lady dexterously aft- 
er breakfast, he sought a corner of the smok- 
ing-room where he would escape her notice, 
and lighted his cigar. Thus yielding to his 
own reflections, while the clouds of smoke 
screened him somewhat from his compan- 
ions, the young man, Howard Denby, became 
a totally different person from the Young 
Lady’s attendant, whiling away the hours in 
idle badinage. He glanced out of the win- 
dow at ocean and sky without seeing either 
object; his gaze roved uncomprehendiugly 
over the other men about him; the very 
sense of hearing was dull because he had 
forgotten himself. Blessed oblivion to ex- 
ternal objects, when the mind shrouds its 
own mysteries from the prying scrutiny of 
the universe! If every mortal could seek 
aud find this self- absorption in harmless 
schemes, even if thought bore no fruition, 
there would be less of mischief-making ev- 
erywhere. Clothed in this armor. Dr. Pier- 
man’s coldness, all the petty stings of annoy- 
ance in the very friction of a crowd, could 
not wound. Howard Denby had simply 
passed beyond them. The gray eyes grew 
keen, veins in the temples became visible, 
there was repressed power about the mouth 
and chin, half concealed by a drooping mus- 
tache. Here was no poetic dreamer wrap- 
ped in reverie, but one prepared to act, gath- 
ering his forces for a spring if the time ever 
came. 

He took from his pocket a Russia-leath- 
er book bound in silver, and consulted the 
contents as if the leaves contained the key 
to some riddle he was determined to solve. 

Ten years before the grocer’s wife had 
said, 

'' He is there still ; God help him !” 

She had then gone behind the counter, 
and weighed a pound of moist brown sugar 
in the scales for Mrs. Flaherty, the washer- 
woman around the corner, a good customer 
when business was brisk. 

There’s many like him, and there’ll be 
many more this winter,” grumbled the gro- 


PILGRIMAGE. 25 

cer, making change in his till with innifmer- 
able coppers. 

When the place was cleared, the grocer’s 
wife again went to the door and peered out. 
The shop was located in a poor neighbor- 
hood enough, the rows of brick houses op- 
posite were dingy, and with many broken 
shutters. Night was gathering, cold and 
dark, with sombre clouds threatening snow, 
aud a bitter wind sweeping the dust in ed- 
dies around the corners. 

A tall boy, poorly clad, and with his cap 
drawn down over his eyes, stood with his 
back to the grocer’s window, gazing at a 
third story of the opposite house, as he had 
been standing for an hour previously. The 
grocer’s wife applied her apron to her own 
pale face stealthily, for her lord and master 
hated tears. There stood the lank boy in 
the gathering twilight, gazing at the house 
where his mother had died three days be- 
fore, and from which he had been expelled. 
The grocer’s wife was a poor woman, much 
burdened with debt and care ; the shop was 
in an unfashionable quarter known as the 
‘‘ East Side ;” and the city was New York. 

Without were the darkening street, the 
dingy opposite house, the lonely figure of 
the boy : within were a boarded floor, strewed 
with sawdust, a small counter, ornamented 
with a cut cheese ; and rows of boxes of rai- 
sins, bottles of green pickles, and other deli- 
cacies, reaching to a low ceiling hung with 
hams. Beyond was a glimpse of a humble 
living-room enough, but where burned a 
cheerful fire with savory suggestions of a 
family supper by-and-by. A little girl, with 
rough hair and a freckled face, pulled her 
mother’s gown. 

Shall I take him a bit of bread-and-but- 
ter ?” she whispered, eagerly. 

It’s a cold night,” said the grocer’s wife, 
glancing over her shoulder toward her hus- 
band. 

^^Eh — so it is,” responded the man, gruff- 
ly, and walked straight to the door. 

“ Come in and warm yourself,” he said to 
the tall boy, who obeyed mechanically, and 
spread his thin hands to the welcome fire. 

The grocer was used to all phases of pov- 
erty, whining mendicancy, and disreputable 
indebtedness; but the boy perplexed him. 
He pushed aside feebly the offering of Mag- 
gy McGuire ; his face was pallid and worn, 
his eyes sunken with famine and grief. 

Where are you going?” demanded the 
grocer. 

“ I don’t know,” murmured the boy. 

Mrs. McGuire came to his side with a bowl 
of hot tea, bid him be seated and drink, with 
quick womanly instinct of his need. 

Anyhow you can sleep here to-night,” 
said the grocer, and afterward repented of 
such rash generosity, since the boy could 
sleep only under the counter of his shop. 

Mrs. McGuire met these objections with, 


26 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


Shure, liis mother was a rale lady from 
the look of her, and he won’t thieve.” 

Very low down in the world, left hy an 
ehh-tide of misfortune on such a shore ! Mr. 
McGuire, grocer, feared to trust Howard Deu- 
hy, horn a gentleman, at the age of fifteen, 
and looked after his money-hox with unu- 
sual care that night. Afterward, for three 
years, Howard Deuby slept beneath that 
humble counter, and was a member of the 
grocer’s household. It was a sorry training, 
but it had its uses. Opposite was the house 
in which his mother had died ; and when he 
looked up at her windows his spirit rose with- 
in him, all his nature strained at the chains 
of necessity which curbed him. Was life 
to mold him, or could he grasp and conquer 
life ? They had lived for years in these dirty, 
reeking streets, mother and son, hidden from 
the world. The boy had scarcely known a 
better existence. There was no disgrace in 
their hiding ; they had merely stranded on 
the reefs of Want since the brawl in which 
Howard’s father had perished. The father 
was a drunkard, a spendthrift. Something 
of the terror of her tardy discovery lingered 
in his mother’s delicate face, and was stamp- 
ed by reflection for years on Howard’s own 
features. All blame was her own : she had 
married the stranger in her distant South- 
ern home against the advice of her kinsfolk, 
and they had virtuously washed their hands 
of the matter. 

That was all ! Years of sorrow and pain, 
years of weary endurance and need. Mrs. 
Denby taught music in little brick houses, 
odorous of cabbage, on jangling pianos. Her 
wrecked life had two aims — to educate her 
sou, and to keep him from an hereditary love 
of drink. In the first breath of cruel winter 
she had died, the rent was unpaid, and How- 
ard Denby, aged fifteen, was turned out into 
the street without money or friends. 

The three years in service of Mr. McGuire, 
grocer, were spent in mornings at the great 
district school of the ward, a teeming hive ; 
and the rest of the day and evening were 
devoted to the interests of trade. Mr. 
McGuire was a surly benefactor with views 
of his own; Howard was older and stronger 
than his sons. The boy paid his way. Mag- 
gy McGuire had grown into a slim girl who 
put up her hair, and showed a fondness for 
neck-ribbons. She would not have object- 
ed to a flirtation with Howard, merging into 
the rash settlements for life peculiar to that 
neighborhood, where young people launch- 
ed recklessly into matrimony on nothing 
a year. The household was harmonious 
enough. Adversity and the chilling depres- 
sion of his childhood had robbed Howard of 
buoyant gayety. He was grateful to Mrs. 
McGuire ; he performed his duties with the 
careful precision of a machine ; he gave no 
confidences, and minded his own business. 

^^Why don’t ye win the prize, and gain 


the cadetship ?” said Mr. McGuire, abruptly, 
one evening, resting his hands on his knees, 
and studying the boy much as he had done 
on that first night years ago. 

I will try,” said Howard, with a sudden 
flash in his gray eye. The flash meant hope, 
and seeing a way out of it all. 

Now, Mr. McGuire was a soured man, whose 
visions had been rudely dispelled on landing 
in America. He came of a highly respecta- 
ble family, his father being a tenant-farmer; 
he was an Orangeman, and was both thrifty 
and industrious ; yet the sober imagination 
of Mr. McGuire had not been proof against 
dazzling visions of golden harvests to be 
reaped without toil, even on the very wharves 
of New York City. A grim reality had been 
the small grocery, a battle with debt, an in- 
creasing family. Mr. McGuire sought refuge 
in politics with a deeply seated resentment 
toward the rich, envy taking the form of 
personal grievance, and became chairman of 
a society of grumblers, meeting in the rear 
of a dram-shop. This society wore a nation- 
al badge, and struck roots deep into the soil. 

The right of a military cadetship having 
been accorded to that great hive, the ward 
free-school, Mr. McGuire would fain have a 
finger in making the first cadet. His own 
son and heir was hopelessly addicted to play- 
ing truant, and whiling away the precious 
hours of youth w ith marbles in the gutter. 
Howard Denby was a student, and should 
have it. The ward adopted him ; the soci- 
ety upheld his claim fiercely : the rich peo- 
ple up town should see if they were always 
to trample on the poor. 

Thus Mr. McGuire became, from mixed mo- 
tives of good and evil, the powerful lever in 
the life of Howard Denby, deserted by his 
own class. He carried off the prize, and 
was praised for his cleverness by gentlemen 
on the platform. Mr. McGuire, in a very stiff 
shirt-collar, attended the examination with 
a dogged and suspicious aspect. Afterward 
a hat circulated in the society for the or- 
phan’s benefit. Howard said, doubtfully, 

‘^Will they let me make guns at West 
Point, or do any thing I choose ?” 

The grocer thought him a fool, or mad. 

^‘Make guns! It’s learniug to pint and 
fire ’em, my boy, ye’ll be after knowing 
there,” he said. 

Mrs. McGuire and Maggy wiped their eyes. 

Ye’ll be forgetting us poor folks now,” 
said the good woman, w^ho had taken him 
in out of the streets, homeless and friendless, 
that sad night now belonging to the past. 

Howard colored high, and threw back his 
head. 

People do not forget the only friends 
they have in the world,” he said, with dig- 
nity, and then he kissed them both. 

Mrs. McGuire noted the cut of his military 
jacket anxiously; but Maggy flushed and 
trembled as his lips touched her own. 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


27 


The public-school candidate passed with 
credit, entered West Point, and after that a 
stylish young man in gray sometimes visited 
the grocery in the city street to be admired, 
with an ever-increasing difference between 
himself and his friends marking his growth. 
It happened that when he passed through 
that ordeal of examination which changes 
the whole current of many a youth’s life, an- 
other candidate also bore the test, a candi- 
date for whom the path of boyhood had been 
made as smooth by circumstance as How- 
ard’s had been made rough. This pupil was 
Rockwell Cocks, indolent, assured, selfish, 
with an adoring mother thirsting for mili- 
tary honors to be showered on an only son. 

Two years later, Howard Denby, hitherto 
studious and quiet in demeanor, was dis- 
missed the Academy in disgrace. There was 
no palliation for his offense; he had been 
caught in the very act of committing an 
unpardonable misdemeanor one night, had 
flamed into angry denial of his guilt at first, 
and, when circumstantial evidence proved 
overwhelmingly against him, had taken ref- 
uge in a sullen silence which remained un- 
shaken. Once more turned out into the 
world, Howard Denby did not seek refuge 
with Mr. McGuire, although something of the 
grocer’s envy poisoned his heart with bitter- 
ness. Luck was against him. The wheel 
of fortune must have revolved before he was 
born, in order to crush him to the earth. The 
disgrace of his dismissal was like the lash 
of a whip in his face, a gnawing pain in his 
soul, to be fiercely resented, to feel tingling 
through every nerve fibre. With such a 
nature, Howard Denby, when an old man, 
might still flush in keen remembrance of 
the insult; in hot youth it was simply gall- 
ing, unendurable. This revolt against fate 
transpired while he was the petted guest of 
Mrs. Longueville Cocks in a fine house, which 
was a paradise of luxury and wonder to the 
boj^, used only to humble poverty. 

Rockwell Cocks had discovered that How- 
ard Denby was a useful ally in irksome 
tasks; was himself a generous and lavish 
youth ; and had brought him home one holi- 
day, when shy, proud Howard was discov- 
ered to be the son of Mrs. Cocks’s school- 
friend. Never had poor Mrs. Denby sought 
the once Miss Bagatelle ; but the latter, 
bridging over forgetful years, filled only 
with a hazy impression that school-friend 
Maria had made a wretched marriage and 
vanished somewhere, could receive a hand- 
some youth in gray on her hearth-stone, and 
make much of him with true kindness and 
perception of his weaknesses. Howard could 
have duped and deceived Mrs. Cocks to any 
extent, because she fancied that she had de- 
tected in him genius. Mrs. Cocks was as 
wax in the hands of a genius. 

It would seem that Rockwell Cocks was 
much concerned by the departure of his 


friend: he wrote letters to his mother ur- 
ging her to keep Howard Avith her until he 
obtained leave, and could see them. Mrs. 
Cocks needed no urging to adopt this course, 
her nature overflowed to Maria’s son; but 
he would by no means remain a captive in 
that house, lined with mirrors and wondrous 
cabinets, rich in books, statuary, and pict- 
ures. Inaction chafed him ; a sense of fail- 
ure, humiliation, and disgrace held him aloof 
even from sour Mr. McGuire, to whom he 
must be also a disappointment. He was 
like a bird in a gilded cage, starving for 
need of proper food. Before Rockwell Cocks 
obtained that much-desired leave, Howard 
Denby had enlisted in the volunteer navy 
with the enforced aid of his benefactress, 
and sailed away to the Gulf. 

Six mouths later there was another frolic, 
and Rockwell Cocks was also expelled, when 
he explained to his mother that he was the 
culprit in the first instance, and Howard 
Denby was so unfortunate as to incur the 
appearance of guilt through companionship 
with him. 

He never told on me, and he is a brick,” 
quoth Rockwell, laughing; ^^all the same, I 
am the black sheep, and he might be there 
now for a slow coach.” 

The second youth took the matter with 
no secret chafings against fate ; he mocked 
at his misfortune, played billiards, acquired 
a fondness for Champagne suppers, and open- 
ly ridiculed the matter at his club. No dis- 
grace of this sort could be attached to Rock- 
well Cocks. Mrs. Cocks sighed, and took 
her son abroad. 

For five years Howard Denby was as one 
dead to all who had ever known him. Mrs. 
Cocks found leisure, amidst the claims of 
fashionable life, to wonder at his silence, and 
search newspaper files for possible tidings 
of him. Down in their noisy, dirty street, 
the M‘Guires noted the lapse of time, and 
often discussed the once pensioner on their 
bounty around the family fire, where Maggy 
brought her baby. Maggy had not waited 
to win Howard’s coy admiration, but in the 
heyday of her maidenhood had accepted a 
young mechanic, who was her partner at the 
annual fireman’s ball. 

On board the Acis, a tall young man, with 
a blonde mustache, accosted Mrs. Cocks, who 
gave him two little fat hands in glad recog- 
nition. 

^^You naughty boy, to forget us all so 
long !” she exclaimed. Now we haA^e found 
you again, you shall not escape us in Eu- 
rope.” 

‘‘You travel for pleasure ; I must work,” 
he replied. 

Such was the history of the young man 
seated in the smoking-room, poring over his 
Russia -leather pocket-book, of whom Dr. 
Pierman had formed an unfavorable opinion 
because of gossip concerning his friend. Ho 


28 


MISS NANCY'S PILGKIMAGE. 


Tvas grave and reticent, and miglit have said 
for years, 

“My own thoughts 

Are my companions ; my designs and labors 

And aspirations are my only friends.” 

That night Blanche's iceberg came; not 
in the ruby glow of sunset, a castle with 
pinnacle and airy fretwork of crystal, blue 
waves below, and clear sky above catching 
the rosy fire, but like the Angel of Death, 
Azrael, a white form hovering in the ^ir, ap- 
pearing through the evening mists in the 
path of the Acis like a doom. What awful 
mysteries lay hidden in the sullen, lapping 
waters that bore the shape so near, pale 
lights gleaming on the polished slopes here 
and there, like phosphorescent rays, as if the 
ship with tremulous flame sought to pierce 
the gloom of danger and learn the worst. 
The whisper had gone around, arousing 
the sleepers to witness the grand spectacle 
which might prove their last, when the cap- 
tain would fain have still kept them dream- 
ing below. 

Mrs. Pierman stood near the cabin-door, 
shivering with sudden dread ; Blanche, awed 
to stillness, clutched her father's hand on 
one side, and Miss Nancy's arm on the other. 
The girl knew that Howard Denby was be- 
hind her, although he did not speak. Miss 
Nancy shared that awed silence. The emer- 
gency was too sudden and unexpected to 
prepare for action. Was the thread of life 
actually reeled off to the end for them all ? 

Lord, save my soul !" was the prayer of 
this lonely woman. 

The girl beside her hid her face against 
her father's arm with the supplication, 

Dear God, I am afraid to die !" 

In the soul of Mrs. Pierman arose the cry, 

Not yet, oh, not yet !" She moved forward 
a pace or two resolutely, almost defiantly. 

‘‘Come back, mamma," said Blanche, 
quickly, and joined her. 

We can no longer recognize ourselves in 
the transformation of great emergencies. 
Before he was aware of an intention. Dr. 
Pierman had laid his hand heavily on Miss 
Nancy's shoulder. 

“ Is Humphrey Baylis also dead ?" 

“No." Her wonder was mechanical, al- 
most far away in abstraction. 

“ Then why did you not marry him ?" im- 
peratively. 

“ I never dreamed of marrying him," qui- 
etly, yet with sudden awakening. 

“ If this is death, I should like to know 
the truth," he said, hoarsely. 

The angel Azrael, terrible in majesty, float- 
ing across the track of all ships at times, 
towered, poised above, overshadowed the 
Acis with a presence still, benumbing, sub- 
lime, those sullen waters lapping and surg- 
ing below, like the floods of oblivion await- 
ing the spectators. The space of a minute, 
clogged in flight by an agony of suspense ; 


the limit of a heart-throb, chilled in its rap- 
id pulsation ; the suspension of respiration 
between hope and fear, and Azrael gathered 
form in the cold darkness, disputing the on- 
ward path of six hundred souls. Would the 
angel stoop and freeze their breath ? Oh, to 
call back the days that are not ! Oh, the no- 
ble impulses, the wise resolutions for the fut- 
ure, made by all hearts in the swerving of 
the Acis ! Only to escape this time ! If ev- 
ery one might be a Runjeet Singh shrinking 
from that ordeal, there was no King Solomon 
to raise his hand on high, wearing the sig- 
net-ring of chrysoprase blazing with mys- 
terious fire, and summon the rushing wind 
from the west to lift the guest, and bear him, 
a cloud of purple and shining silk, away 
from the presence of Azrael. 

The sullen waters moaning and lapping 
below, the darkness enveloping all, the ice- 
crag towering above them, all in the space 
of a heart-throb ; then the Acis had changed 
her course, was edging off stealthily, rapid- 
ly. A fragment of ice struck the ship's side 
like a bolt, and the crystal splinters were 
scattered about Mrs. Pierman. The terrified 
woman uttered a faint cry, and sunk on her 
knees. 

“ The danger is over, Margaret. It was 
only a brush," said her husband, raising her. 

“ I am so deadly cold !" she groaned, and 
suffered him to lead her away. 

Through the darkness Howard Denby said 
to Blanche, “ Your fancy castle has vanish- 
ed, after all." 

The girl moved closer to him, with an un- 
conscious confidence ; a faint perfume reach- 
ed him from her hair. It is only waiting 
out yonder," she whispered. 

Gone, like a dream of terror, like the 
wraith of storms, like a beckoning, ghostly 
messenger, was the iceberg, leaving night 
and silence on the ocean. 


CHAPTER V. 

AN IRON BOX. 

Next day the sun broke over a clear ex- 
panse of water; the ice -rafts had been left 
behind like the distant cliffs lining the 
frozen sea; and danger past could be dis- 
cussed with recovered cheerfulness, and even 
carelessness, in the radiance of morning. 

After that the Acis slid gently southward, 
ever southward, until the warmth of fiery 
noons and balmy twilights permeated every 
thing. Miss Nancy did not recover equi- 
librium from the shock as rapidly as did 
some of her companions. She was remind- 
ed of the fairy tales where all the guests of 
the castle step down from their pedestals in 
the bewitchment of midnight, utter start- 
ling truths, assume unusual situations, then 
fall back into the reserve of their petrified 


MISS NANCY'S PILGRIMAGE. 


29 


condition at dawn. Had John Pierman 
really breathed that question in her ear? 
Had Margaret, his wife, fallen on her knees, 
a mortal cowering in the presence of death ? 
Certainly one would not imagine that such 
could have been the case from the aspect of 
either husband or wife next morning. Pos- 
sibly Mrs. Pierman was ashamed of the 
weakness she had displayed, for her manner 
was again calm and collected. Perhaps Dr. 
Pierman repented of his impetuous curiosi- 
ty under cover of night, as unbecoming in a 
sedate, middle-aged man; he followed the 
movements of Tommy and the Big Boy, who 
were both again rampant, with a thought- 
ful, preoccupied glance. 

^‘My dear, Blanche Pierman is a lovely 
girl. I wish you would endeavor to inter- 
est her a little,” said Mrs. Cocks to her son, 
with a certain maternal wistfulness of man- 
ner. 

^^Here goes,” he replied, laughing care- 
lessly, and went in search of the object. 

He was a good-looking young man of me- 
dium height, inclined to be stout, with a 
full, somewhat heavy face, smoothly shaven, 
and small eyes already set about with little 
l^uckers and wrinkles of fat. The sole am- 
bition he had as yet developed was to excel 
his world in extravagant and eccentric dress, 
chiefly of foreign importation, and in the in- 
exhaustible variety of his walking-sticks. 
Rockwell Cocks despised jewelry, and rigid- 
ly banished the glitter of gold from his per- 
son beyond a massive chronometer and 
chain, but he may be supposed to have felt 
a kindred glow with King George the Fourth 
over the success of a new wig, when he ap- 
peared on the Avenue attired in dismal plaid 
from head to foot, three months in advance 
of his countrymen. Good -humor, inter- 
spersed with much irreverence, seldom de- 
serted him. 

When the iceberg had poised above them 
last night, he had lighted a cigar, and 
quoted a national wit : Death stared us in 
the face, and we stared Death in the face.” 
From which airy vein of composure it need 
not be inferred that he would have lacked 
bravery, had the real emergency come. He 
was placed in the world to be amused, and 
he intended to extort the last farthing due 
him from pleasure. 

‘^We shall scarcely have a more narrow 
shave than that,” he had said when the Acts 
altered her course, and flicked the ashes 
from his cigar. How jolly, to drink a cob- 
bler cooled by the ice scattered on deck !” 

Howard Denby interested him as the 
young man did Mrs. Cocks. Rockwell rank- 
ed him as a melancholy youth, rather down 
on his luck, sure to cherish some Utopian 
project in the brain, and proud as Lucifer. 

He might be a major-general in time but 
for my pranks. I must help him over here 
if I can,” he resolved. 


Not a contemptible young man by any 
means ; liberal with his purse ; a trifle fond 
of noisy gayety, who accepted the adoration 
of his mother graciously, and made light of 
a good deed if he ever performed one. He 
went in search of Blanche Pierman at his 
mother's bidding, already knowing fifty 
girls quite as pretty and agreeable, and 
some half a dozen whom he had at various 
times and seasons vaguely determined to 
marry. To be a lady's man was inexpressi- 
bly irksome to the convivial Rockwell, and 
he had already shattered his mother's hopes 
of a comfortable settlement in life many 
times. 

She watched him cross the deck to the 
side of Blanche and Miss Nancy, well pleased 
with his sudden docility. More than one 
destiny on board the ship did Rockwell 
Cocks also cross on that occasion. Mrs. 
Cocks then drew her chair to Mrs. Pierman's 
side with a smile. 

^‘I have sent my boy to make himself 
agreeable to your charming daughter,” she 
said, confidentially. Young people should 
like each other, if possible.” 

Mrs. Pierman listened with a thrill of de- 
light. What if Blanche should marry Rock- 
well Cocks ; one of the greatest matches in 
the country? She could scarcely credit 
that Mrs. Cocks would so readily smooth 
the way to such a consummation. Then 
the two mothers conversed about their chil- 
dren with the most transparent self-compla- 
cency in their respective merits, only thinly 
veiled by a modest deprecation. Afterward 
they glided off into a discussion of Paris 
modistesj with all the attendant little rills 
of converse concerning custom-house duties, 
Irish linen, and Brussels point, which flow 
into that great stream of ship conversation 
— the fashions. Mrs. Cocks gave Mrs. Pier- 
man the card of her dress-maker on the Rue 
St. Honors, and in return Mrs. Pierman 
strongly recommended her own milliner on 
the Rue du Quatre Septembre; and the 
acquaintance progressed famously. Mrs. 
Cocks was summing up the matter thus : 

These Piermans are said to be living at 
a rapid rate for their means. The girl will 
have next to nothing besides her trousseau ; 
but, then, she is sweet and fresh : I could 
train her to any thing. I should like Rock- 
well respectably married. How do I know 
that one of those horrid ballet-girls may not 
inveigle him into a clandestine marriage 
sometime when he has taken too much 
wine ?” 

Balm to wounded vanity: if the Young 
Lady swept away Howard Denby in her 
train, Rockwell Cocks, a celebrity in his cir- 
cle, had enrolled himself under Blanche's 
gay silken banner. The girl received him 
with a smile and arch glance from beneath 
curling lashes. Rockwell was bluff and 
jovial, much addicted to chaff, and prepared 


30 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


to inspect in Blanche a new specimen with 
a certain curiosity implanted by his moth- 
er’s words. Miss Nancy was vexed by the 
defection of Howard Denbj^, and the suprem- 
acy of the fop, as she chose to consider Mr. 
Cocks. She had come to view the affairs of 
Blanche with a zealous partisanship, and 
she liked Howard Denby, as indeed did all 
ladies, save Mrs. Pierman, who regarded him 
with supercilious, drooping eyelids. More- 
over, Miss Nancy had discovered the secret 
of that first mirthful glance he had given 
her when introduced to Blanche, and the 
revelation had made friends of the two. 

Blanche had praised a handsome young 
man, German or poetic in aspect, not only 
to her room-mate in cabin 15, but to the in- 
dividual himself in a cabin not ten paces 
distant, and divided by a thin wall. With 
such delicacy as the occasion warranted, he 
ventured to hint at this dangerous vicinity, 
and by intuition she divined quickly the 
truth. 

You overhear onr gossip,” she exclaim- 
ed. Well, I am only a crabbed old wom- 
an ; but I defy you to find a sweeter child, 
even in her prattle with me, than Blanche.” 

That I can believe. Pray never tell her. 
Perhaps I have done wrong to speak of the 
matter at all,” said Howard, gently. 

You are quite right, and I thank you,” 
replied Miss Nancy, heartily ; and formed a 
resolution to curb her own tongue as well as 
that active member belonging to the young 
girl, her companion. 

The confidence led to a certain acquaint- 
ance which strengthened in interest daily. 
Miss Nancy fell to studying Howard Den- 
by with her head on one side, searched him 
with adroit questions, and learned more 
than he was aware of for her pains. Her 
meditations concerning him found utterance 
to Blanche sometimes, who often listened 
quietly, and as often spurned the subject, 
to Miss Nancy’s perplexity, with a laugh. 

Unaccountably vexed by reason of her in- 
tense partisanship when Rockwell Cocks ap- 
proached, and Blanche glanced up at him 
demurely through her silken lashes. Miss 
Nancy stalked away to the upper deck 
alone. Few people on board the Acis stud- 
ied human nature with the keen zest, the 
lively interest, of onr school-marm. The 
field was fresh to her, and the variety inex- 
haustible. Often from the deck above did 
she watch the steerage passengers herded 
together in a narrow space by that dividing 
rope, pallid, sickly, depressed ; the wander- 
ers returning home disappointed ; the in- 
valid coming back to die ; the occasional 
prosperous Hibernian, prepared to flaunt his 
money before his kinsfolk in the Old Coun- 
try. Children eat languidly from tin basins 
in corners, or watched the sports of Tommy 
Pierman, much as one little dog eyes an- 
other. 


A group of girls behind a cask, knitting 
and watching the sea, smiled faintly at the 
pleasantries of an old sailor mopping the 
deck. A woman groped her way out of the 
door below, and leaned against the bulwark. 
She was beyond middle age, attired in a 
brown-stuff gown, a cloth cloak, and a black 
silk bonnet of antique shape, such as was 
once worn for protection of the head. Her 
features were firm and large, and her eyes 
were covered by a pair of blue-tinted glass- 
es. She held in her hand a slip of paper 
folded, and, to Miss Nancy’s surprise, she 
looked up at her earnestly, and beckoned. 
Was the stranger summoning her? Miss 
Nancy shook her head doubtfully, and pre- 
pared to move away. 

Again the woman made that earnest gest- 
ure, pointing to herself, and the slip of pa- 
per she held. Thus entreated. Miss Nan- 
cy descended the steps and approached the 
rope. 

^‘You know me?” she questioned, still 
surprised. 

The stranger laid her hand on Miss Nan- 
cy’s arm across the rope ; the daylight fell 
strongly on her. face, which was sallow and 
worn ; her eyes were invisible through the 
darkened spectacles ; her thin, nervous lii)s 
twitched as if from suppressed emotion. 

No,” she replied, quietly ; I like your 
appearance. You are trustworthy. Will 
you do me the favor to give him this slip of 
paper ?” 

Miss Nancy received the slip in perplexity. 

Wait,” said the singular person. 

The figure of the old millionaire became 
visible on the upper deck, pacing the boards 
restlessly, although Blanche’s rose-bud had 
faded from his button-hole long ago. 

Take it to him,” whispered the stranger, 
her fingers again closing impressively over 
Miss Nancy’s arm. Tell him it is from a 
passenger in the steerage, and do not speak 
of it to your friends afterward. That is 
all.” 

Between wonder and docile obedience, for 
there was an imperative ring in the old wom- 
an’s voice which seemed to reverse their re- 
spective positions. Miss Nancy found herself 
again on the upper deck, and confronted the 
millionaire as he wheeled around in his walk. 

^^A woman in the steerage requested me 
to give you this paper, sir.” 

For a moment he measured her with his 
glance, sharply, suspiciously, then accepted 
the paper and unfolded it. 

You are kind to interest yourself in the 
steerage — and in me,” he said, with a little 
mocking bow, and resumed his walk as if 
no interruption had occurred. 

The service was a trifling one,” said Miss 
Nancy, unflinchingly, and stepped aside. 

Presently he returned to her. 

^^The woman in the steerage is a fanat- 
ic, and fanaticism is worse than insanity. 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


31 


Doubtless she has taken you into her confi- 
dence,” with a wary inflection of voice. 

‘‘She has not taken me into her confi- 
dence; and I suppose she knows her own 
business,” retorted Miss Nancy, nettled by 
the very suggestion. 

“Most women do,” he sneered, with that 
cold smile of his, like a frosty gleam on de- 
serted windows. 

Ah, Miss Nancy, if all women did ! If you 
had known your own business, standing 
there facing the insignificant man in gray. 
Here was indeed a field for speculation. No 
romance could be fabricated from such ma- 
terials as the plain woman in blue goggles, 
and the gray millionaire, whose surprise was 
pettish and irritable, rather than the bear- 
ing of conscious guilt for some crime. Mov- 
ing to the ship’s side. Miss Nancy discover- 
ed that the strange woman had disappeared, 
and she was about to withdraw from the 
vicinity of the old man, whom she instinct- 
ively disliked, when Dr. Pierman joined her. 

He had not addressed her previously on 
that day, and so far had he set aside the re- 
membrance of their youth that the enthu- 
siasm of a recent conversation was still upon 
him. For an hour he had been discussing 
professional medical questions with a He- 
brew physician from Lisbon, whose erudition 
delighted him. 

A confidence trembled on Nancy’s lips ; 
it would be so natural to tell John about the 
millionaire first mentioned by him and the 
woman in the steerage, who evidently was 
not a servant. The abstraction in his face 
withheld her. She hesitated, and the op- 
portunity was lost. 

“ There is a brain used to delving in the 
richest mines of thought. He is a linguist, 
a mathematician, a botanist, a geologist,” he 
said, referring to the Hebrew physician, and 
assured of her interest. Every one, young 
and old, seemed to take it for granted that 
Miss Nancy was exclusively interested in 
their respective affairs. “Yet we all start 
from the same point, it seems. Now, what 
do you suppose was his first specimen ?” 

“First specimen,” she repeated, vaguely, 
her thoughts drifting again to the steerage 
passenger. 

“ The first successful attempt at a perfect 
skeleton, let us say,” continued Dr. Pierman, 
with animation. 

“I can not possibly guess,” she replied. 

“ A mouse, Nancy, such as I once prepared 
with infinite pains and skill, each tiny ivory 
bone perfect, and I was happv when I saw 
the shape laid tastefully on a velvet cushion 
which revealed the bleached delicacy of a 
perfect mechanism in relief.” 

Miss Nancy laughed. 

“ I have the mouse skeleton still under 
its little glass dome,’ she answered. “ You 
gave it to me as a birthday gift, and father 
was very proud of it.” 


“ It was like you both to remember,” said 
Dr. Pierman, with a suspicion of moisture in 
his eyes. “God knows what my boyhood 
would have been without the father, Nancy,” 
he added, half appealingly. 

Nancy’s lip trembled a little ; but she 
was not even thinking of him just then; 
she saw only the white grave-stone on the 
hill-side, to which the children had brought 
wild flowers. 

“He did his duty by all,” she said at 
length, with a certain austere solemnity, 
which set John Pierman aside out of the fa- 
ther’s path and her own. 

“ I know it, and those were fortunate who 
came within his infinence,” he said, mildly. 
Such humility disarmed her. 

“ He hoped great and noble things of you, 
John Pierman, because in his soul’s purity 
he could see beyond. I hope you have real- 
ized them,” she said, quickly, and left him. 

The Aeis slid southward, ever southward, 
after that warning of icebergs on the deep. 
The fervent glow of day waned to the soft 
twilight, merged gently, imperceptibly, into 
night, luminous with large stars and fanned 
by warm breezes. The foam -snow in the 
vessel’s wake took strange sparkles of phos- 
phorescence as it swirled in eddies about 
black mysterious waves. 

Rockwell Cocks was following his moth- 
er’s advice with a vengeance. Argus-eyed 
Gossip declared that he had fallen in love 
with Blanche Pierman at first sight, and he 
was not disposed to dispute the assertion. 
Only the Young Lady shrugged her shoul- 
ders. 

“ One of his flirtations,” she said. 

The rose-bloom was deepening in Blanche’s 
cheek, and a softened brilliancy glowed in 
her dark eyes ; Mrs. Pierman’s child was not 
likely to remain unmoved by the triumph 
of such a conquest. Already maternal in- 
junctions rang in her ear and confused her 
brain. 

“ If you manage him well, such a marriage 
will give you the first place in society. Yes, 
indeed, your own country has nothing more 
to offer you, and people who have snubbed 
us will be only too anxious to gain a idace 
on your visiting -list. You shall select the 
trousseau personally in Paris.” 

Rapid is the mental feminine calculation 
on matrimony at all times, but doubly rapid 
is it in the leisure of a sea- voyage. 

The Young Lady still chaffed every one, 
sung Italian arias in the gloaming, and 
dragged Howard Denby about, when he had 
not retired into the depths of that pocket- 
book which interested him so profoundly. 
The Young Lady, having attached the hand- 
somest man on board to her train, was satis- 
fied. Gossip also had a word to say concern- 
ing this pair. 

“I have no patience with a young man 
who could associate with Blanche Pierman, 


32 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


and prefers that painted creature,” thought 
Miss Nancy, and was waspish in her greet- 
ing to the offending youth. 

A man may hold his own, especially after 
having overheard himself praised by a girl 
in the next cabin. Miss Nancy frowned on 
the Young Lady in every phase of aspect — 
on her loud, ringing laughter, her extrava- 
gant dress, her levity and assurance — and 
quite longed to thrust some little needle of 
sarcasm as to his choice into the armor of 
Howard Denby. He had stepped aside for 
Rockwell Cocks without a word or gesture 
betraying disappointment. Perhai)s he was 
not used to such girls as her favorite, and 
therefore did not appreciate her loveliness. 

Thus reasoning angrily. Miss Nancy 
pounced on Mr. Denby in the twilight, and, 
restraining a desire to shake him, began to 
pace the deck with him instead. 

How artfully did she turn her conversa- 
tion on the ship’s company, leading the way 
not only in her talk, but in her walk, to- 
ward Blanche seated alone on the upper 
deck! We praise or blame from the great- 
est variety of motives, sometimes casting a 
stone, by means of comparison, at that which 
we should extol for the same reason on an- 
other occasion. The frigidity of Miss Nancy’s 
disapproval of the Young Lady, conveyed 
iuferentially in this promenade, might 'svell 
have struck terror to the stoutest heart. 
Howard Denby assented quietly to her praise 
of Blanche, but with no heat of partisanship; 
his very tameness irritated and piqued her. 

Unconsciously she had drifted into the 
conviction that these two young people 
were to be lovers, and each hour circum- 
stances only sundered them more widely. 
A fig for Rockwell Cocks! Verily Miss 
Nancy had come from Eutopia, and been 
fed on milk and honey, not to see affairs in 
a more correct light of reason. 

He will propose to-night,” thought Mrs. 
Pierman, with satisfaction, watching Rock- 
well Cocks make his way to the upper deck, 
where he had recently left Blanche. 

Fate, in the shape of Miss Nancy, inter- 
fered. 

Would you oblige me by searching for 
my camp-chair, Mr. Cocks? It is green, 
with a red border, and I have missed it for 
hours.” 

‘^With pleasure.” Rockwell raised his 
hat, and disappeared below. 

Miss Nancy smiled and flushed in the 
darkness. What had she done? Howard 
Denby was seated beside Blanche, she hav- 
ing withdrawn on plea of other engage- 
ments. Lo ! Rockwell Cocks, advancing to 
destroy every thing, was met and foiled by 
that suggestion of the camp-stool. Again 
Miss Nancy laughed softly in the darkness, 
delighted with her own cleverness, and ig- 
norant how soon she would reap the whirl- 
wind for her audacity. 


^^Back so soon? What have you done 
with my child?” inquired Mrs. Pierman, 
sweetly. 

Rockwell Cocks was poking hopelessly in 
a pyramid of stools and chairs. 

Miss Hawse wishes a seat up aloft. By 
Jove! it’s a regular needle -in -a- haystack 
business to make out red from blue in this 
pile,” responded the young gentleman. 

Mrs. Pierman compressed her lips. 

Do not trouble yourself to search farther, 
Mr. Cocks ; and oblige me by telling Miss 
Hawse that I wish to see her directly.” 

Rockwell Cocks, a young man at all times 
of pleasing independence of action, strolled 
back without the chair, and, instead of de- 
livering Mrs. Pierman’s message, decided to 
have a brush with the school-marm. It is 
to be feared that he was prompted by a 
mischievous desire to thwart Mrs. Pierman, 
who beamed on him as so many mothers had 
done before, and at the same time to enliven, 
perhaps horrify. Miss Nancy by frightful 
tales of his own adventures and misdemean- 
ors. She fell a willing victim to his wiles, 
so that she kept him aloof from that corner 
where Blanche sat, and Rockwell never ob- 
jected to variety. 

In his quick, rattling fashion, he gave her 
the interesting particulars of his dismissal 
from West Point, and the part Howard Den- 
by had played ; and as such a respectable, 
middle-aged woman is the most delightful 
listener attainable in the world to a youth 
just fledged, the pictures of his various esca- 
pades were colored with an unsparing hand. 
Miss Nancy knew that he was telling awful 
fibs, was making fun of her, and yet she could 
not help liking him, scamp that he was. 

Over near the bulwark, Blanche, shrouded 
in soft fleecy wraps, her glance pensive, the 
outline of her face spiritualized by the night, 
was watching dreamily the white foam swal- 
lowed up by the black waters astern. How- 
ard Denby looked at her intently, almost ea- 
gerly, as if he were receiving an image in 
his brain, always to be retained, this twi- 
light, half- shadowy girl, which might be 
treasured in the heat and noise of the noon- 
day hereafter. 

What do you like best in the world ?” 
he demanded, suddenly. 

choice of employment or amusement ?’^ 
she questioned, languidly. 

Yes ; if employment is ever amusing.” 

Blanche’s eyes and teeth flashed in the 
gloaming. 

I like to dance the ^ Boston,’ guided by 
Strauss the divine.” 

^‘Is it possible!” The exclamation was 
involuntary ; he kbew so little of her world. 

Why not ?” said Blanche, half defiantly. 

One must dance whep young. Now, I can 
guess very readily your favorite pursuit, Mr. 
Denby. I am sure that jou are a poet.” 

Denby laughed. 


MISS NANCY'S 

never wrote a line of poetry in my 
life." Then he added, softly, If I were so 
gifted, I would choose such a moment of in- 
spiration as this." 

The girl was quiet. Above them the 
clear shy arched, to meet the whispering 
waters ; the white foam melted in the ship’s 
wake : the laughter of Rockwell Cocks be- 
hind the smoke-stack occasionally broke the 
stillness. Blanche knew, with a strange 
sense of awakening, that Howard Denby’s 
gray eyes were again fixed on her face. 

“ How can I tell the signals and the signs 

By which one heart another heart divines ? 

How can I tell the many thousand ways 

By which it keeps the secret it betrays ?” 

When the delinquents came below, Mrs. 
Pierman confronted Miss Nancy with sup- 
pressed anger in her face, quite unmindful 
that her husband and" daughter were spec- 
tators of the scene. 

^^May I request you. Miss Hawse, since 
you seem to be included in our family par- 
ty, and therefore we are identified with each 
other, never to repeat what you have done 
to-night ?" 

Every word conveyed a sting in the ut- 
terance. 

^^My dear Margaret," expostulated Dr. 
Pierman, with that manner of soothing a 
fractious child which he so often adopted 
when addressing his wife. 

I do not understand you," said Miss Nan- 
cy, reddening under Mrs. Pierman’s words 
and glance. 

You sent Rockwell Cocks, a young man 
unused to picking up his own glove, to 
search for your camp-chair as if he had 
been a lackey. Ignorance of social etiquette 
could alone excuse such presumption." 

Mrs. Pierman’s voice quivered with rage, 
but Miss Nancy’s unpardonable assurance 
was not her only misdemeanor. Had she 
not stupidly interfered between the lovers, 
and detained Rockwell by her side the whole 
evening ? An old maid talking with a young 
man ! Mrs. Pierman had fully made up her 
mind, with a nervous eagerness, that he 
should propose that night. 

Nonsense, mamma !" interposed Blanche, 
hurriedly, linking her arm within Miss Nan- 
cy’s. He was most happy to be of service, 
I am sure ; and what is a young man about 
for, except to be useful ?’’ 

Miss Nancy grew taller by inches. She 
was about to speak, when a glance at Dr. 
Pierman and Blanche checked her. She 
turned, and entered her cabin without ut- 
tering a word. 

Do not mind mamma," pleaded Blanche, 
following her. ^^Her nerves make her ir- 
ritable sometimes; she means nothing, in- 
deed." 

^^I can not understand the necessity of 
making such scenes," said Dr. Pierman, im- 
3 


PILGRIMAGE. 33 

patiently. ^^Your conduct is simply inex- 
cusable, Margaret." 

I do not care !’’ she retorted, tremulous- 
ly. The next event will be a gushing de- 
scription of our childhood at Briarbush from 
Nancy. Perhaps you will agree with me 
there is no necessity for Rockwell Cocks’s 
knowing all that." 

Afterward the warm days chilled again ; 
rain fell monotonously, changing to raw mist 
and fog as they neared the coast. Rockwell 
Cocks did not propose, and the saloon was a 
thoroughfare for pent-up humanity. 

One night a shudder went through the 
AdSj like a quivering throb, from stem to 
stern, followed by an awful crash, and a cry 
that rang out on the startled air with none 
to hear. All was confusion and panic of 
fear. Blanching faces and trembling limbs, 
aroused from slumber, at first refused their 
office. Flying groups of women, clasping 
their children, gathered to a mighty surge 
amidst shrieks, groans, prayers, and suppli- 
cations, and beat against the main stairway 
in the blind instinct of escape. Here a bar- 
rier awaited and drove them back : the head- 
steward, a thin, cool man, and the steward- 
ess, a square-built, stolid woman, who stood 
with folded arms, opposing their progress. 
It was nothing — an accident to the machin- 
ery, soon remedied. The ladies were to re- 
main below, the male passengers were re- 
quired on deck. At the same time, the calm 
stewardess made no objection to a use of 
life-belts. Thus driven back, and partially 
re-assured, the women sobbed, prayed, and 
demanded wildly what had happened. The 
absence of the men was followed by a steady 
thump of pumps overhead. 

What had happened ? 

Walls of fog rose before and behind the 
ill-fated steamship, veiling a coast that rends 
with sharp rocks, crushes between reefs and 
cliffs, or strands on treacherous sands, aided 
by the tempest or the opaque atmosphere. 
The Ads knew her ground from long famil- 
iarity. She had been feeling her way cau- 
tiously through the mist, listening for the 
muffled sound of fog-bells which never came, 
eagerly striving to discern the beacon-lights 
which were not visible. Security and qui- 
et slumber wrapped the ship, all save anx- 
ious captain and anxious crew. No lights, 
no fog-bell — that ghostly, impenetrable wall 
closing around, ever nearer, in swathing 
folds, and time scarcely worn toward mid- 
night. 

With slowed engines, the Ads felt her 
way. The captain hove the lead, and sud- 
denly heard broken water on the edge of 
sands. Too late! Never before had the 
brave man, breasting manifold perils, known 
the doom of that sound — the sullen roar of 
broken waters on the sand margin. He had 
grown gray and wrinkled listening for it; 
the nightmare of it had perched ever upon 


34 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


his pillow, when he snatched hasty slumbers 
on nearing this coast. Now the worst was 
come! He had missed his reckoning. Too 
late, indeed ! 

With rending crash the reversed screw 
broke ; that shudder ran through the whole 
craft, and the Jcis drove straight on the 
land ; not amidst the cruel - fanged rocks 
which pierce, the awful cliffs which spurn 
back these gifts of ocean, crushed in far-fly- 
ing spray, but on the wide stretch of sands, 
the slowlj^ devouring, implacable enemy that 
sucks down countless noble ships to obliv- 
ion. 

There lay the Acis, helpless and stricken, 
lifted high on the strand by one mighty bil- 
low, swept of boats and gear by the wash of 
succeeding ones, her women kept below, her 
men at the pumps in the desperate chance 
of stemming that volume of increasing wa- 
ters. Now a rocket streamed up, like a wa- 
vering ray of hope, and was lost ; now pis- 
tols snapped like pop-guns. Soon these sig- 
nals ceased; the powder was damaged by 
the trooping waves that came in battal- 
ions, gathered like enemies about the Acis, 
wounded to death. 

Which to choose ? The wooden tub used 
for centuries, which rode the sea like a cork 
and floated even a wreck ; or that iron box, 
the Acts, modern invention of speed, driving 
through the waves by main force, strik- 
ing the shore, and with rivets broken in the 
shock, weighted by cumbrous and now use- 
less machinery, filling, sinking. 

Down in the cabin Miss Nancy held 
Blanche Pierman by the hand. Dr. Pierman 
had fastened belts about all of them, and 
had confided the girl especially to her care. 
Tommy clung to his mother, whimpering, 
and Mrs. Pierman sat on the cabin floor in 
the very abandon of despair, her face buried 
in her handkerchief. After the first shock 
of alarm. Miss Nancy was well-nigh apa- 
thetic. She seemed to have passed wholly 
out of herself, or to have lived through a simi- 
lar scene before. 

We are already on land,” she said, aloud, 
drawing Blanche closer. The people will 
soon come to our assistance.” 

The stewardess nodded to her approving- 

A nun knelt beside the cabin table, pray- 
ing over her rosary. She might have been 
a figure carved in black marble. A little 
child, with curling golden hair, nestled its 
head on its mother’s arm and fell asleep 
again. The old millionaire came forth from 
his cabin, already muffled in the gray coat. 
He stopped before Miss Nancy, his hands 
trembling, and with a dazed expression on 
his pinched face. 

Have you seen her ?” he muttered, and 
into his eyes came the look of one already 
before the judgment-seat of God. 

‘‘ No,” said Miss Nancy, still marveling at 


her own composure. You are late in seek- 
ing her ; find her if you can.” 

Yes, yes, I am late,” he said, dreamily, 
and groped on to the door in order to bo 
first when the time came. 

Oh, leaden moments of waiting in dumb 
suspense ! Oh, ceaseless prayers rising from 
all hearts for deliverance and the tardy, day ! 

The time came with the turning of the 
tide. The Ads ceased to thump on the 
ridge, the pumps to play. Again that cur- 
dling, desolating cry rang through the ship, 
startling paralyzed women to their feet, and 
rousing children from their slumbers. A 
column of water poured through the sky- 
light, down w'here knelt the nun in marble 
stillness. Miss Nancy felt the chill of the 
inpouring flood, first about her ankles, then 
creeping up to her knees. There was a dull 
plash and surge as the intruding waves 
sought each open cabin, and lapped about 
the berths for prey. A shriek and gurgle 
told too often where the gliding, treacher- 
ous enemy caught the inmates unawares. 

A shudder ran through Nancy, the love 
of life stirred and leaped within her veins. 
Were they all to drown, pent up like rats in 
a cage? The stewardess was driving the 
helpless crowd to the stair-way, even as she 
had previously held them back. They were 
to run the gantlet of that wave-swept deck, 
and gain the rigging as their only hoi:)e. 

Many held back, cowering, and chose 
death below, deaf and blind to words of en- 
couragement. Mrs. Pierman refused to stir. 
Nancy caught her up in her arms, nerved by 
the strength of despair, and delivered her 
to her husband on the stairs, who already 
clasped Tommy. 

Come back for Blanche next,” cried 
Nancy, and held the girl ready, her own 
breath almost spent. 

Two white, resolute faces peered down at 
them, the faces of Howard Denby and Eock- 
well Cocks. 

Where is my mother? Oh, mother! 
mother !” cried the latter, wildly. 

^^She is down there,” said Miss Nancy, 
and made way for him to pass. 

You, too,” panted Howard Denby. 

Come qnickly.” 

Take her first,” said Nancy. You can 
not manage more than one.” 

Howard disappeared with the nearly in- 
sensible Blanche. Miss Nancy, clinging to 
the wall, felt the waters rising, ever rising, 
and waited alone. Soon that deluge would 
gain on her peak of elevation, and then — 
every one else had some friends or family tu 
regard. She was terribly alone. In a flash 
of recognition her thoughts went out to the 
solitary woman in the steerage. Had she 
been trampled upon or saved ? A floating 
object struck against her foot. Yes, the 
waters were rising, would soon reach her. 
In the cabins was stillness at last, and only 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


35 


the sapping swish of the flood from wall to 
wall. She put out her hand for the object 
in the darkness : it was a small book. With- 
out heeding her own action, she thrust it 
into her dress. 

Again the voice of Howard Denby, hoarse 
and thickened by fatigue, was heard. He 
appeared, clinging to the door. 

We must watch our chance,’^ he shouted. 

A clean-swept deck sheeted in foam, the 
fog-pall enveloping all, darkness of destroy- 
ing land on one hand, darkness of ingulfing 
sea on the other, and a few mortals clinging 
to the rigging. Without one glance around 
the two sped over the perilous way — the 
bridge of glass, the cimeter-edge between 
life and death. The gathering flood might 
swoop over them at any instant, and hurl 
them, like feathers before the whirlwind, far 
out into the deep. Somebody grasped Nan- 
cy, and raised her. 

Nancy, are you safe?’^ questioned Dr. 
Pier man. 

Don’t let him go again,” cried Blanche, 
above. ^^He will be lost this time, and he 
has saved so many lives. Don’t let him go 
back.” 

Thus the still more fearful term of wait- 
ing began ; waiting for the day to come, for 
breath to fail, for cramped limbs to stiffen, 
and benumbed fingers to relax their hold on 
the ropes, and bodies sink below. The Acts 
swayed to every impulse of the tide; she 
was settling fast, digging for herself a grave 
in the sands. 

The spray flew up ice-cold, and drenched 
the survivors ; the depths howled aloud for 
their lives beneath, marked by failing fac- 
ulties ; the hours dragged on. 

A woman clasped Miss Nancy’s knees on 
the rope-ladder, a woman whose face she 
could not see, but whose head she patted re- 
assuringly when she dared to free her fin- 
gers for the purpose. She prayed those 
above her and about her to tie her to the 
support, if possible, in order that she might 
not lose this other life as well, if her hold 
failed ; but they did not hear, or were too 
much encumbered to venture on the under- 
taking. This weight on her limbs seemed 
at times insupportable; she feared losing 
her senses, and falling headlong with the 
burden that dragged her down. Ah, mer- 
ciful God, grant the light of day, and relief 
from the agony, or the release of death ! If 
she closed her eyes, lights danced and flick- 
ered before them. Only the strain of resist- 
ing the woman who clung to her, and there- 
by supporting her, kept her acutely alive 
to the present need. 

Then the woman began to sing hymns, in 
a voice of singular purity and power, that 
rose above the surging flood, and reached 
many a failing ear. 

‘‘Lord, grant me strength!” she prayed 
once, and Miss Nancy heard her ; 


“ ‘ Rock of Ages cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in thee.’ ” 

Thus the clear voice rose on the terrible si- 
lence of deck and cabin, the chilled silence 
of the watchers above. 

“ ‘ Rock of Ages/ ” repeated Miss Nancy’s 
pale lips, and she saw again the white meet- 
ing-house on the hill, father giving the hymn 
from the desk, and the voices of the choir 
floating out through the open windows to 
meet the summer sunshine. He was very 
near just then; she could feel his presence. 
His face grew luminous, distinct, transfig- 
ured by a heavenly radiance against earth’s 
dim background. 

Her hold on the rope was slipping, quiet- 
ly, inevitably ; the weight on her feet grew 
heavier ; the hymns had ceased, drowned in 
the myriad mingling voices of the breakers. 
She closed her eyes, resigned at last to cease 
the struggle termed existence. There was a 
stir all about her which she scarcely heeded, 
a feeble, uncertain shout. Once she opened 
her eyes widely. 

A pallid gleam had stolen over the scene 
like the illumination of a blue torch. On 
the ladder beyond her were Dr. Pierman, 
holding his wife and son ; Blanche, with her 
arms locked around the neck of Howard 
Denby, who stooped even as Miss Nancy 
gazed, and laid his cheek caressingly against 
the white, wan face pillowed on his breast. 
The woman, still clasping her knees, and 
who had sung hymns, was no other than the 
stranger in the steerage. Miss Nancy opened 
her lips to speak, but no sound came. 

The woman was gazing down intently at 
some object left by the now ebbing tide, and 
did not observe Nancy’s recognition. This 
object, previously caught behind the bul- 
wark, slowly drifted past them : it was the 
body of a drowned man. With pinched, 
white face upturned, the Vandyck beard 
plainly visible, wrapped in the familiar gray 
coat to the last, the millionaire passed them, 
claimed by the sea. 

The blue gleam was dawn. The day had 
come at last, but not for Miss Nancy. The 
roar of the breakers was in her ears ; light 
could not quench the darkness which gath- 
ered, nearer and crept upward, like that 
dread of encroaching waters in the horror 
of the earlier hours. All, all was lost ! 


CHAPTER VI. 
somebody’s pocket-book. 

A WOMAN sat alone in an upper chamber 
of a London hotel overlooking a crowded 
thoroughfare. The room was small and dis- 
mal ; the defacing touch of London smoke, 
which has been so often described, and yet 
must be experienced for a due apprecia- 
tion, had begrimed the sombre carpet, the 


36 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


white dimity bed-curtains, and rested on the 
walls. Occasionally, a little spiral flake of 
soot floated down gently on tbe nose of the 
solitary occupant of tbe room, whose gaze 
sought the opposite roofs, the strip of sky 
visible, and such glimpses of the thorough- 
fare below as might be obtained from two 
very high windows. 

The person was no other than Miss Nan- 
cy, alone in the heart of a great city. 

Three weeks before the Acts had gone 
• down. Miss Nancy had been rescued in a 
perishing condition, by the boat coming to 
the relief when she lost consciousness. Aft- 
er that there was a blank of illness in a lit- 
tle village on the coast, when she did not 
recognize even the faces of the Piermans 
constantly bending over her. Perhaps her 
first reviving sense was the conviction of 
Mrs. Pierman’s being out of temper over the 
wearisome delay. Yet Mrs. Pierman had 
been kind, had set every other considera- 
tion aside except Nancy’s recovery when 
they landed, forlorn and shipwrecked mar- 
iners; but rest and refreshment brought 
fresh courage. The Acis had disappeared 
even as the iceberg vanished which had 
crossed their path. It was best to forget 
dangers, and turn back to life again, grate- 
ful for escape. Nancy was getting better, 
with Dr. Pierman for physician and Blanche 
for nurse. 

The Cockses had gone on to London. How- 
ard Denby had also departed, with a some- 
what stiff leave-taking and averted looks 
from Blanche. Mrs. Pierman fretted at los- 
ing ground with her new acquaintances by 
a prolonged absence. She persuaded her- 
self that it was all for the sake of her child. 
Why could not Nancy be left with the kind 
people who had sheltered her, and Dr. Pier- 
man return to visit her if necessary ? 

Daily her murmurs grew louder : Blanche 
cared more already for this stranger than 
for her own mother. It was natural ; her 
father taught her to respect Miss Nancy be- 
fore all others. What people would think 
of it, she, Mrs. Pierman, was wholly unpre- 
pared to determine. 

Fragments of these murmurs struck sharp- 
ly on Miss Nancy’s ear, and produced rapid 
convalescence. Still pale and weak, she 
insisted on traveling to London; strength 
would return to her with exertion, she said. 
Once arrived there, she parted resolutely 
with her friends. They were going to the 
Langham Hotel, showy Mecca of all pilgrims 
across seas, apparently; her purse necessi- 
tated her seeking more moderate quarters. 
In vain Dr. Pierman and Blanche protested. 
Mrs. Pierman was silent, or faintly nega- 
tive : of course, every one was best judge of 
his own means. 

Thus Nancy took a cab, and, in due course, 
having been tossed like a shuttlecock from 
one family hotel to another by the as- 


tounding season ” prices demanded, meek- 
ly sought refuge in the upper chamber 
where she now sat. She was glad of a 
shelter, and the hotel, small though it was, 
kept a vigilant eye on her expenses. Be- 
hold, was she not an American, and is it 
not written in the hook of European hotel- 
keepers that Americans are all rich, and to 
be iflucked accordingly ? The wreck of the 
Acts was already a thing of the past. A 
colliery explosion, a rumor of war, an ex- 
traordinary murder, had each in turn suc- 
ceeded it, and the casualty would find a place 
hereafter in a list of marine disasters. The 
survivors had been scattered like chaff be- 
fore the wind. Miss Nancy had neither 
heard nor seen more of the woman who 
clung to her knees that dreadful night. 

She sat gazing out over the opposite roofs, 
and a second flake of soot settled upon her 
nose without disturbing her meditations. 
How she had always longed to see this great 
London ! How often had the father traced 
its history in her childish days, with the aid 
of tattered prints. Suddenly she started up, 
and opened her trunk. 

I have never thought of it since !” she 
exclaimed, aloud. The illness put every 
thing out of my brain, I suppose.” 

She took from the trunk a dressing-gown, 
crumpled and discolored, and held it up at 
arms-length for inspection. 

“ Poor rag ! shall I always keep you to re- 
mind me how nearly you were my shroud ?” 
she murmured, and searched a pocket in ihe 
lining. Strange I should have grasped any 
thing that night, but it seemed to come to 
me like a gift. Ah, here it is !” She drew 
forth a small pocket-book. 

Blanche Pierman had left the dressing- 
gown undisturbed, especially as it furnished 
Miss Nancy’s sole claim to a wardrobe when 
they left the ship. She went to the win- 
dow to examine it in the waning twilight. 
A Kussia-leather book bound in silver, and 
with a plate on one side containing initials 
in monogram. 

“ H. D.” read Miss Nancy, and, with curi- 
osity aroused, she lighted a tallow - candle 
that sputtered in a tall, plated candlestick, 
and made a feeble star of flame in the in- 
creasing darkness. 

To open and search the book was to dis- 
cover the owner, and restore it if possible. 
The first leaf was a blank without writing ; 
clearly a nicely kept book, nearly new, and 
not much damaged hy water. There were 
two silk pockets ; in one an ivory pencil- 
case, several visiting-cards waiting to be 
filled out, with strips of tissue-paper still 
adhering, and a pink -tinted calendar con- 
taining the advertisement of a glove-maker 
on the back ; in the other, an antique coin 
with the head of Minerva stamped on it. 
The pockets revealed nothing. Turning the 
leaves slowly, she came upon certain entries 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


37 


made in pencil, in a small, rather crabbed 
hand, the jottings of an owner who under- 
stood suggestions which he did not care to 
make public to others, if by chance he mis- 
laid his book. The top of a page would be- 
gin: 

Write to K., of Chicago, about the P. W. 
Safe for the present, but possibly shaky next 
year.” 

The bottom of the page might conclude 
with these equally lucid hints : Try the M. 
in England, and get a bid for L. if chance of- 
fers. Investigate the legal rights of M. M. O. 
without lawyers over here knowing the 
drift ; 79 must be looked up at all hazards 
before P. begins the war in stocks.” 

The fifth leaf was covered with figures 
arranged numerically with neat exactitude. 
The sixth — What was this ? Miss Nancy 
stared, rubbed her eyes, and held the book 
closer to the candle : 

Mr. Simon Warren, Lilborough, Vermont’^ 
Below this line was written, Reply to his 
questions concerning his shares at early 
date.” 

Miss Nancy laid down the book on her 
knee, and looked about her like one in a 
dream. ^^Mr. Simon Warren, Lilborough!” 
Why, the ];)erson referred to thus was Uncle 
Simon, dead these four months, and who had 
left no accumulation of money to Nancy, his 
heiress. Shares — in what ? 

Snatching up the book again, she search- 
ed the remaining pages with feverish ener- 
gy ; she emptied the whole contents on the 
table. The antique silver coin rolled forth, 
a shower of blank cards followed, the ivo- 
ry pencil rattled after ; other clue than the 
initials on the case there was absolutely 
none. 

H. D.” read Miss Nancy again and again, 
striving to place the owner. 

She was on the brink of some mystery 
concerning herself. H. D.” A new light 
broke upon her ; she laughed at her own 
previous stupidity. More than once she had 
seen this identical pocket-book in the hands 
of Howard Denby. The gift brought her by 
the waters belonged to the young man who 
had struggled back across the wave-swept 
deck to rescue her. Only, what possible 
connection existed between dead Uncle Si- 
mon and Howard Denby ? Oh that she had 
known sooner when brought in daily asso- 
ciation with him on shipboard! Oh that 
she could have peeped before at the secrets 
of the Russia-leather book which so vitally 
concerned herself! To-morrow she would 
seek him, restore the book, and learn about 
Uncle Simon. 

Miss Nancy retired to rest, but not to 
sleep. Her pulses throbbed with excite- 
ment ; her brain was in a whirl ; the noise of 
a great city reached her like those never-to- 
be-forgotten breakers on the shore : the two 
windows showed a gray blank of sky. Ev- 


ery painful event, every mortification expe- 
rienced in her life seemed to rise, and give 
her a little stab of reminder. Her cheek 
glowed with honest anger when she review- 
ed the cool disdain of Mrs. Pierman; the 
anxiety, scarcely veiled by politeness, to bo 
rid of her companionship. Miss Nancy would 
not stoop to measure weapons with her for- 
mer friend ; but there was gall in the sug- 
gestion that she was a discredit to a travel- 
ing party, and must therefore be thrust off 
to journey alone. She demanded nothing 
besides civility of Margaret Pierman, and 
even this was not accorded her. It was un- 
bearable. 

She had never been permitted to talk with 
amiable Mrs. Cocks without direct interfer- 
ence, or a susi^icious, disapproving surveil- 
lance. Why should Margaret thus regard 
her ? 

Simple-minded Miss Nancy from Briar- 
bush ! We hate the sight of those we have 
willfully injured, and the insolent are never 
without wounds. 

Finally she sunk into uneasy slumber, 
from which she was again aroused by a pow- 
erful influence. She raised herself, and list- 
ened intently. The new influence which 
had stolen upon her, and oppressed to a 
sense of acute wakefulness, was the silence 
following midnight and precediug dawn, 
when tumult of vehicles and hurrying feet 
ebb away, and there is a pause as of sus- 
pended breath before the strife begins again. 
Miss Nancy peered forth from the win- 
dow awed by this wonderful change. Two 
o’clock, marked by the music of chimes from 
some unseen church-tower, and stillness, sol- 
emn, vague,'and chilling, brooded over the 
city. Above, a dark pall of roofs, chimneys, 
and spires were faintly discernible ; below, 
a deserted thoroughfare, and a female figure 
standing on the curbstone peering anxiously 
up a narrow lane, where the strains of an 
orchestra, the flaring lights of a gin-palace, 
had been apparent earlier. 

The silent spectator asked herself, with a 
throb of pity, who she was. A creature 
stamped with the coinage of a great city’s 
misery and debasement? No, an elderly 
woman, decently clad in black, who was evi- 
dently searching for some one — a son, a hus- 
band, a daughter. The policeman passed 
her without comment; a swell,” emerging 
from a dark door -way, whistled for a han- 
som-cab ; the solitary woman in black was 
left alone. 

Over yonder were London Bridge in deep- 
est shadow — ghosts of suicides shrouded in 
the turbid waters — Seven Dials, and Petti- 
coat Lane, with crime driven to its lairs by 
approaching day. May not St. Paul’s and the 
Abbey be the soul aspirations of those striv- 
ing to escape from the dreary level of the 
town and its baser nature, arrested in dome, 
arch, and pinnacle ? Two faces rose before 


38 MISS NANCrS 

Nancy — Charles Dickens, prophet of these 
(lark homes of the poor, who led Little Dorrit 
through the midnight streets ; and Charles 
Lamb, who belonged to the daylight, divert- 
ing weariness or distaste of home by rush- 
ing into the crowded Strand, and fed his hu- 
mor and his sympathy on the multitudinous 
moving pictures, like the scenes of a shift- 
ing pantomime. 

Again the unseeti chimes made their mu- 
sical reckoning of another hour ; the wom- 
an in black fluttered away, and was lost; 
the watcher drew in her head with a prayer 
for the soul who was ignorant of her very 
existence, and again sought her pillow. 

The Ladies^ Coffee-room of Mulcher’s Fam- 
ily Hotel was reached by descending dingy 
stairways, which had the appearance of 
winding down a well, so dark and narrow 
was the interior. On the first landing was 
a counter partitioning off a sooty corner, 
illuminated by jets of gas, where several 
Etnas apparently steamed night and day 
in a chronic state of tea-brewing, and two 
damsels, respectively blonde and brunette, 
presided. What the duties of these dam- 
sels might be Miss Nancy was unable to fully 
discover. The blonde wore a sky-blue bow 
in her yellow hair, of which she was con- 
scious, and giggled very much while supply- 
ing various gentlemen with postage-stamps. 
The brunette, trim, natty, alert, with much 
jet ornamentation appended to her person, 
eyes as hard and of the same lustre as her 
ornaments, and a wheedling smile, answered 
inquiries, received orders, and darted about 
gracefully. The coffee-room was an oblong 
apartment, with opaque windows, and sever- 
al works of art on the wall of surprising size, 
but where the original subjects were hope- 
lessly lost in rich depths of a chocolate-hued 
background. There was a seemingly high- 
shouldered sideboard at one end, and a chim- 
ney-piece at the other, flanked by gaudy 
china shepherdesses guarding a grate, which 
was obscured by an avalanche of curled pa- 
per, as if the chimney had rained down mot- 
toes all night. 

A waiter presided over this cheerful apart- 
ment, of cynical aspect, with a bald head, a 
cold eye, and a stiff shirt-collar. As he made 
a place for Miss Nancy by the window, there 
was a chilling disapproval in his manner, 
which either evinced a discontented sense 
of superiority to his present walk in life, or 
a disposition to despise herself. 

Three other persons were already seated 
in the room : a young man with the unmis- 
takable radiance of satisfied bridegroom 
about him ; a pretty girl, in rich toilet, with 
the equally unmistakable aspect of blushing 
bride; and an elderly matron who sniffed 
disdainfully at the repast furnished by 
Mulcher’s Hotel. This lady immediately 
put on her spectacles to observe Miss Nancy, 
and, being satisfied with the result, nodded 


PILGRIMAGE. 

to her with a certain gloomy affability. Si- 
lence could not long continue under these 
circumstances. The gloomy lady, constant- 
ly soothed and appeased by her young com- 
panions, nevertheless challenged the cynical 
waiter, ran a tilt at him over the wretched- 
ness of the coffee, demanded if he called that 
bacon, pined for the delicacies of her native 
land, and considerably increased the respect 
of the menial by her haughty bearing. Be- 
fore the meal was concluded, she had sifted 
Miss Nancy as to when she came over, where 
she lived, and other particulars. In return 
she stated : 

I am Mrs. Abraham Sharpe, of Norton, 
and this is my daughter’s husband, Mr. Vidal. 
We are traveling for pleasure,” with a dry, 
mirthless laugh. It is the season, now, you 
know, although that does us no good. We 
should not be in this hole otherwise.” 

Dear mamma, one can not expect every 
thing in traveling,” protested the bride, who 
cared not if she feasted on leathery muffins, 
so long as Richard was beside her. 

^‘It might be worse,” added the bride- 
groom, cheerfully. 

I call it a hole,” repeated Mrs. Sharpe, 
with a triumphant glance around, which in- 
cluded the waiter, the sideboard, and Miss 
Nancy. ^^Now, what do you suppose they 
asked us for a suite of plain rooms at Brown’s 
Hotel, in Dover Street ? Twelve guineas a 
week, without food, wine, lights, or service, 
as I am a Christian. Then the English com- 
plain of the extortion of American hotels.” 

I want to know !” exclaimed Miss Nancy, 
involuntarily; then blushed. The cynical 
waiter was grinning behind a battered cas- 
ter. 

At an early hour Miss Nancy betook her- 
self to the Langham Hotel, and on the way 
was dazzled by a first glimpse of the Horse 
Guards, those living statues in superb trap- 
pings of her early dreams. Disappointment 
awaited her. Mrs. Cocks was out ; the Pier- 
mans, father and daughter, were with her ; 
Mrs. Pierman pleaded headache as an excuse 
for not receiving Miss Nancy. The latter 
bit her lip, and wrote a line on her card re- 
questing that the address of Mr. Howard 
Denby should be sent her. Mrs. Pierman 
did not know the address of Mr. Denby; but 
would inquire. 

Miss Nanoy turned away deeply annoyed. 
Mrs. Pierman sunk back on her sofa with 
the conviction that this was solely a subter- 
fuge by which to join their party again, and 
decided to say nothing about the matter. 
Blanche would make such a fuss. She was 
half jealous of the influence Nancy had gain- 
ed over her daughter. 

As she once more emerged on the busy 
world the spirit of Miss Nancy rose within 
her breast. What! was she to allow one 
woman’s power for annoyance to blind her 
eyes to the scene about her? Every street 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


39 


and stone of the world’s metropolis was sa- 
cred to her from long association — seemed to 
belong to herself from a common ancestry. 

Wandering on, she found herself in the 
twilight gloom of a small chapel, where the 
delicate profile of a marble woman lying in 
state, with folded, mutilated hands, came 
between her and the light. She was a pil- 
grim at the shrine of Marie Stuart. All about 
her was the rich glow of windows shed- 
ding rays of crimson and purple athwart the 
dusk of lofty arches, and shadowy aisles lost 
in the vista of chancel, tomb, and roof. Ah 
me ! might not Mrs. Pierman be forgotten 
in the solemn, reposeful grandeur of this 
temple, where Naucy felt like casting the 
shoes from off her feet as holy ground ? She 
touched a fold of the marble robe. Queen 
Mary’s face was not less cold and passion- 
less. 

What was the secret of your life ?” whis- 
pered Nancy. You made the most intense 
enemies, the warmest adherents, and excited 
the most virulent hatred in your day. Was 
it religious bigotry on your part, or theirs? 
Now, Madame de Sevign6 soothed the van- 
ity of those who would have been lovers to 
the state of friendship, without incurring 
enmity. Was the contrast between you two 
difference of race, or degree of feeling?” 

A verger stood at her elbow, and Miss 
Nancy, fearing he might esteem her a little 
mad, moved away with a last glance at the 
tomb. A funeral was taking place, the coffin 
preceded by dean and clergy, and a file of 
choristers singing the prescribed sentences 
for the dead. The bier rested on trestles be- 
fore the altar rails ; the clergyman moved to- 
ward the sacrarium ; Domine Refugium ” 
chanted the choir. Thence the body was 
borne to the grave through the gate of the 
south transept, mourners heaping ferns and 
white flowers on the oaken coffin. 

Eager, upturned face of Handel ; Mrs. Sid- 
dons, in majestic pose ; dust of Henry the 
Builder ; and in the west aisle a slab crown- 
ed by fresh flowers to the memory of David 
Livingstone. The British lion upheld crests 
and shields ; Fame, poised on tiptoe, with 
laurel crown and trumpet; Grief drooped 
in classical drapery; archangels descend- 
ing on snowy pinions claimed released souls ; 
and yet Miss Nancy longed to place flowers 
on this simple slab in preference to all. The 
words of Addison rang in her ears as she 
emerged into day once more : 

^^When I look upon the tombs of the 
great, every emotion of envy dies in me. 
When I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, 
every inordinate desire goes out. When I 
see kings lying by those who deposed them ; 
when I consider rival wits placed side by 
side, or the holy men who divided the world 
with their contests and disputes, I reflect 
with sorrow and astonishment on the little 
competitions, factions, and debates of man- 


kind. When I read the dates of tombs, 
some who died yesterday, and some six hun- 
dred years ago, I consider that great day 
when we shall all be contemporaries, and 
make our appearance together.” 

Wandering on. Miss Nancy found herself 
standing before Miss Thompson’s picture in 
the Royal Academy, the Twenty -eighth 
Regiment at Quatre Bras.” What nerve and 
strength for a woman’s hand, touching this 
chord of national pride with firm, coura- 
geous purpose ! How the Polish Lancers 
hurl themselves, riders and steeds, down 
upon that square formed in the tall rye, 
where the stern man, the cool veteran, and 
laughing boy await them ! Miss Nancy 
gazed and gazed until she saw only through 
the rolling smoke-clouds and heaps of fall- 
en dead, in the laughing, boyish face enjoy- 
ing the sport, the deepest pathos of war. It 
was a woman’s work, and she gloried in it. 
On the opposite wall, like the peace and 
calm of evening after the hot life and fierce 
struggle of noonday, was the “ Last Mus- 
ter” — Sunday at the Royal Hospital, Chel- 
sea, and the old pensioners seated with fold- 
ed hands. Miss Nancy strove to trace a link 
between the abounding vitality of the bat- 
tle-field and this chiUy repose of old age; 
but the wrinkled faces and silvered hair told 
no heroic tales : it was evening, and each 
prepared for rest. 

Pages in the book of memory, these, to be 
turned again many a time by Miss Nancy. 

Here was Queen Mary again, seated stiff- 
ly in a dark chamber, with quaint yellow 
sleeves to her gown, arguing with John 
Knox, who frowned on the fair woman as 
darkly as gathering fate. There were 
glimpses of blue sea and sloping dowps ; 
interiors of Welsh farm-houses, with old 
crones seated beside the wide chimneys, 
where day came faintly through the aper- 
ture above ; and the golden glow of Italian 
landscapes, garnering the warmth of benig- 
nant sun-rays in clusters of purple grapes 
overhead, and little laughing children be- 
low, their dust -stained bare feet presented 
to view, while they lounged against a ruin- 
ed wall. Busts of ladies amazed Miss Nan- 
cy at every turn. She was not an educated 
critic, and only receptive of all light and 
color, but heads disfigured by the extrava- 
gant coiffures of the day must be indeed a 
revelation. 

Fancy Venus, Ariadne, Persephone with 
a marble chignon, or huge braids rising in a 
peak on the top of the head, and thus de- 
stroying all symmetry of outline ! Sufficient- 
ly grotesque in real life are these mounds of 
false hair, without making of art a mock- 
ery. 

Wandering on, Madame Tussaud, most cel- 
ebrated of catch-penny showwomen, kindly 
received our traveler. Cockneys and coun- 
trymen were staring delightedly at the in- 


40 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


animate splendors, in a dead atmosphere, 
where dust and fresh air were alike ex- 
cluded, as if the very tomb of many of the 
waxen celebrities were actually visited. The 
venerable Quaker on the seat still played 
his successful role of deception by his simu- 
lated interest in the gorgeous company of 
queens and warriors assembled. Miss Nan- 
cy found herself admiring deeply the pink 
royal babies in their blue-satin cot. Alas ! 
was the child father to the man on the 
throne yonder, wearing the Masonic insig- 
nia, stout, heavy, bald? Lovely Eugenie, 
with the sloping, snowy shoulders, in a dis- 
tingue toilet quite unlike the court costumes 
of the English ladies, pearly tints and black 
embroideries sweeping about her, smiled at 
vacancy. Dethroned Napoleon III. on his 
bier, done to the death, with a bluish pallor 
settling on his features, horribly real with- 
out the wreaths of immortelles. Charming 
Marie Antoinette, also smiling at vacancy, 
fondling an impossible dauphin, with an 
overdressed little Duchess d’Angouleme by 
her side ; while Louis XVI., in the costume 
of the Saint Esprit, beyond, admired his own 
shoe on a velvet cushion. Henry VIII., most 
pugnacious of wax-dolls, in armor worn at 
the Field of the Cloth of Gold, surrounded by 
six angular doll wives in curious costumes, 
and with a strong family resemblance. Queen 
Katherine alone being accorded the distinc- 
tion of holding a pet monkey. King Henry 
stared, and all the other dollies stared. 

Miss Nancy was in the very best society. 
These splendid creatures never appeared ex- 
cept in full dress, dragging satin trains, wear- 
ing brilliant orders and medals, wrapped in 
the cloak of the Bath, clanking swords, and 
otherwise glorifying themselves. Princess 
Louise in white, with tablier of sparkling 
crystals, forever extended her hand to the 
Marquis of Lome in Highland costume ; 
Princess Mary of Teck always wore a nod- 
ding plume above her brow ; the Queen eter- 
nally occupied her chair of state, and beam- 
ed upon her respective children in apple- 
green, pink, and yellow. Behind the Crown- 
Princess of Prussia a small, dark man, in 
Eastern dress, gazed at every one through 
spectacles with a malignant cynicism : this 
was the Shah of Persia, secretly amused, 
even in wax, either by European civiliza- 
tion, or that this same European civilization 
should receive such as he, a monster in des- 
potism, on the face of the earth. Miss Nan- 
cy shivered as she looked at the patient, 
malignant little man in spectacles. 

Madame Tussaud was so good as to inform 
her at every turn that she was used to great 
people, having been patronized by royal 
highnesses since time out of mind j and, myth 
though she might have become, Madame 
was still further aware that it was only re- 
spectful to make all living ladies handsome, 
at least with those charms of brow and feat- 


ure inseparable from one’s standard in effi- 
gies. Hence, in whatever direction Miss 
Nancy cast her wondering eyes among all 
the personages of royal or noble blood, her 
gaze fell upon forms of fair or majestic mien. 
One might indeed infer, from the flattering 
effigies in madame’s collection, that homeli- 
ness of feature and insignificance of figure 
were physical disadvantages from which 
high-born persons are happily exempt. 

There was a dull ringing in the visitor’s 
ears, a yellow glow of sunshine beat on the 
glass sky-light, the pulseless atmosphere of 
both distinguished dead and living stifled 
her. What did it all mean ? y 

Washington, patrician and dignified, in 
velvet small-clothes ; General Grant, not to 
be recognized by his own mother ; Dr. Kenea- 
ly, with small, sarcastic mouth ; Arthur Or- 
ton, a ponderous mystery ; Lord Macaulay, 
where Joan of Arc should be; Charles Dick- 
ens, lounging in a corner with his hands in 
his pockets; Voltaire, withered and satur- 
nine ; Dr. Livingstone, greeted by a very 
swarthy and woolly Stanley. The Empress 
of Austria in pretty profile, gazed at her hus- 
band in gorgeous uniform, who listened with 
inattentive wax ear to Bismarck wielding 
a blank paper. Sergeant Bates, bearing the 
American flag through England, entirely out 
of place ; Honqua, the tea-merchant, perpet- 
ually smiling ; Berengaria, clinging aflected- 
ly to the arm of Coeur de Lion, in kingly 
raiment. William of Orange looked invinci- 
ble command at his docile Queen Mary ; all 
the Georges, posed in regal insignia. Inter- 
minable military councils were held by im- 
posing figures that did not look at each oth- 
er. Tom Thumb stood jauntily at the elbow 
of a florid and respectable William Penn. 
Closer and closer became the atmosphere. 
Madame Tussaud, despite her acquaintance 
with the best society, had become a horror 
before the knife or guillotine in the Cham- 
ber of Horrors was reached which shed the 
blood of twenty-two thousand victims. 

Wandering on. Miss Nancy refreshed her- 
self with tarts in a pastry-cook shop. There 
was a sense of triumph and exultation in her 
freedom ; her spirits rose higher every hour. 
She was alone, but she was in old London at 
last! With her second tart she formed a 
resolution : she would drive in the Row, and 
see the beau - monde with her own eyes, the 
scene so often described to her in distant 
Briarbush by English novelists. 

Behold our school-marm in a neat equi- 
page, driven by a slim youth in buttons, guid- 
ing a high-stepping horse. She would have 
liked the companionship of Blanche Pier- 
man, or even the young man, Howard Den- 
by ; her solitary enjoyment seemed selfish. 
Her cheeks glowed, her eyes sparkled as the 
slim youth pointed out various objects of in- 
terest with his whip. What would grand- 
mother say ? What would Briarbush think 


MISS NANCY'S PILGRIMAGE. 


41 


of sucli maguificence ? Loudon, vast, noisy, 
oppressive. Was there any element of light- 
hearted gayety beneath the ponderous splen- 
dor of the season Did people ever laugh 
in those state carriages, driven hy a grave 
coachman ? Was there sparkle of wit and 
repartee in the sombre houses, where pow- 
dered footmen occasionally appeared at the 
doors, in aspect full-blown peonies? Or 
were the votaries of fashion anxious about 
their dress, their bills, the prospects of their 
daughters, the possibility of others eclipsing 
them ? Miss Nancy asked herself these ques- 
tions as she was wheeled into Rotten Row. 

The July sunshine, pale and cold, rested 
on the upper windows of palaces and hotels; 
a fog hung low over the meadows along the 
Serpentine. A line of glittering carriages 
preceded her, heavy landaus drawn by large, 
powerful horses, liveries resplendent with 
green, brown, and maroon satin. Portly old 
gentlemen, sometimes with lace cushions be- 
hind their venerable backs ; terribly grand 
old dowagers, bottle-nosed and worldly-wise, 
with garlands of pink flowers on their be- 
wigged old heads ; girls, blooming and pret- 
ty, in startling toilets of white silk, satin 
jackets, and quaint Sir Joshua Cavalier hats. 
With clatter of flying hoofs and jingling 
harness, the leading four-in-hand of the year 
appeared, guided skillfully by the noble own- 
er in person. A prim young lady in a high 
chariot, with aspect of ennui and abstraction, 
read a gilt-edged book, and glanced over 
the rim to note the effect on the wayside 
loungers. Nonsense held sway here as else- 
where. Then a second clatter of flying 
hoofs, a flash of brilliant scarlet, and the 
royal carriages passed, wending toward a 
garden party at Chiswick. 

Miss Nancy was too absorbed in her nov- 
el surroundings to observe closely a second 
quiet equipage which had preceded her along 
the Ladies’ Mile, until it turned. Lo ! Mrs. 
Cocks and Mrs. Pierman, with their eye- 
glasses elevated, and their respective chil- 
dren seated opposite. Miss Nancy checked 
her carriage, and waved her hand: here 
was the opportunity to obtain Howard Den- 
by’s address. The occupants of the other 
carriage did not see her. Blanche, charm- 
ing in lavender, with roses in her hat, was 
chatting with Rockwell in an animated 
strain ; the two matrons appeared depress- 
ed. In their hearts they were both crushed 
by the grandeur of the British aristocracy. 

I don’t see much beauty in all this dis- 
play ; and what a horrible climate !” Mrs. 
Pierman was saying when Nancy waved her 
hand. 

Here lay the difference most important in 
travelers : Miss Nancy could completely for- 
get herself in delighted contemplation of 
the crowd ; Mrs. Cocks, born to a sense of 
her own importance, and Mrs. Pierman bred 
to it, could by no means set aside self. Fain 


would both have been invited within the 
charmed circles of the London season, if 
only to write home the news. Otherwise 
they were depressed, and criticised the pag- 
eant disparagingly through their eyeglass- 
es. Competition was not in Miss Nancy’s 
thoughts. She was a spectator, and might 
have been a ghost for any interest she was 
likely to receive from these throngs of stran- 
gers. 

Although the American party had not 
recognized her, she drove back to Mulcher’s 
Hotel, reviewing the experience of her day 
with elated satisfaction. In the coffee-room 
the cynical waiter again served her. Mrs. 
Sharpe was not visible. 

I never drink wine,” said Nancy, severe- 
ly, when offered a card. I belong to a tem- 
perance society.” 

The cynical waiter smirked at one of the 
murky paintings, as if calling Heaven to wit- 
ness that nothing could surprise him after 
this. 

‘^I should like some ice-water instead,” 
added Miss Nancy, guilelessly. 

Oh yes ; Mulcher’s Hotel supplied ice- wa- 
ter. The cynical waiter performed a panto- 
mime over the counter on the landing in ob- 
taining the luxury, which betrayed that he 
had mistaken his calling, and caused both 
blonde and brunette nymphs to laugh im- 
moderately. Miss Nancy eat the mutton of 
loneliness, and decided recklessly to close the 
eventful day with ice-cream for dessert. 

Yes; Mulcher’s Hotel could also furnish 
ice-cream, in form a small yellow lump in a 
wine-glass, in flavor peculiarly like the froz- 
en custard happily blended with arrowroot 
of Fourth-of-July festivals in rural districts 
of America. 

A man ascended the winding stairs in ad- 
vance, of her when she withdrew; his shad- 
ow was visible along the wall ; he entered 
the room opposite to her own, and closed the 
door. Miss Nancy scarcely noticed the cir- 
cumstance at the time. When she opened 
her trunk, the first object she beheld was 
the pocket-book. 

A whole day had passed without restora- 
tion to the owner, without discovery of any 
clue to the mention of Uncle Simon’s name. 


CHAPTER VII. 

SAVED BY THE POLAR BEAR. 

Next morning a very small boy emerged 
from the Langham Hotel, and gazed upon 
the London world after his own fashion. 
He wore the garb of a juvenile sailor (dark 
blue, with a broad linen collar), and his little 
legs were incased in stockings of vivid scar- 
let. A soft, peachy face, with rosy cheeks 
and small red mouth, sometimes revealing 
sharp white teeth, glanced out from beneath 


42 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


the straw yachting -hat, hut the dark eyes 
usually had a very naughty sparkle of mis- 
chief in them. 

The small boy’s name was Tommy Pier- 
man, and the Big Boy had vanished from 
his horizon. When his l)onne, the genteel, 
sallow -faced Marie, in a becoming muslin 
cap, led him one way, he inevitably pulled in 
an opposite direction. This course of action 
brought them to Hyde Park instead of Re- 
gent Street, where Marie anticipated enjoy- 
ing the shop windows. 

^‘Que tu es mecha7it!” sighed the young 
woman, and became interested in a closely 
shaven personage of military aspect, who ap- 
peared to be a Gallic exile. 

Tommy had his own views of travel. He 
carried under one arm on this eventful morn- 
ing a red-bound copy of Hans Christian An- 
dersen, as many tourists carry ^‘Murray,” or 

Baedecker,” and no inducements presented 
by Marie could avail to make him quit his 
hold on the precious volume. 

Hans Andersen dead ! The good old man 
who has earned the sweetest, most enduring 
fame of the age, perhaps of any age, in the 
love of the whole world ? Did he not hold 
the golden key of every household and in ev- 
ery land through his influence over the chil- 
dren ? These children will carry the Ugly 
Duckling,” the ^^Ice Maiden,” the Snow 
Queen” into youth’s more ardent coloring; 
will in turn live over again their childish 
delight with their own children as they re- 
vert to this first, best, and purest page in 
literature. All of us rejoice that the son of 
the shoe-maker of Odense lived to fulfill the 
prophecy of the spaa-wife in the popularity 
of his genius, after the struggle of early boy- 
hood. All of us were with him when the 
King of Denmark decorated him on his sev- 
entieth and last birthday, when the author 
was presented with an edition of his works 
in fifteen languages. In the serenity of ripe 
age, in the full enjoyment of a nobly earned 
popularity, he has fallen asleep, our dear old 
Andersen, leaving us the imperishable jewel 
of his genius to cherish in our hearts, and 
beside our hearth -stones. Let the arctic 
snows shroud his grave, the soul-flower will 
still bloom beneath as the skies will glow 
with the wonders of the aurora he described. 
For the “ Marsh King’s Daughter,” for The 
North Wind,” for the Moon’s Pictures,” we 
drop a flower from America on the poet’s 
bier; and surely his welcome to heavenly 
realms must be the choirs of children’s 
voices. 

The small boy. Tommy, clasping Hans An- 
dersen’s stories firmly to his breast, gazed 
about him. Before him rose the Albert 
Memorial, where beautiful shapes seem to 
have sprung from the earth when a queen 
waved her sceptre. Who of us from the four 
quarters of the globe will not gladly sup- 
port the mausoleum of the good Albert ? — 


Asia, with her elephant ; Africa, with her 
camel ; America, with her bison. What en- 
ergy and strength are displayed in this last 
group ! The Indian looks forth as if in dawn- 
ing wonder of the future, in contrast with 
Europe’s tranquil repose amidst the arts, or 
the indolent grace of the East. 

Forward to the sunset,” the fair form, 
star-girdled, seems to command, upholding 
here in the Old World the tomb of a prince. 
Harmony of soft gray sky above subdued 
the gilded richness of arch and shaft, and 
the snowy gleam of marble, and below the 
venerable trees rose like black columns be- 
neath a dome of verdure, and the golden 
green lawns of that park which George I., 
‘^stupid old drone from the German hive,” 
thought to include in royal demesne, and was 
informed by his prime minister that such 
an infringement of public rights would cost 
him precisely one crown. 

Marie talked volubly with the Gallic exile, 
who proved to be a courier. A wicked 
smile dimpled the pretty face of Master Tom- 
my, the little red legs edged away cautious- 
ly, their owner displaying an absorbing in- 
terest in the Albert Memorial, until, shelter- 
ed by that noble structure, the active mem- 
bers were put to another use. Away sped 
Tommy then after two objects which had 
excited his curiosity for some minutes past — 
a little boy mounted on a fat pony, and fol- 
lowed by a groom on foot. Of course Marie 
had dragged her charge away from the temp- 
tation to accost this equestrian. Doubtless 
the little monsieur was a milord, and would 
be shocked by the familiarity. 

^‘He is a boy, and I’ll bet he isn’t nine 
years old : I’m ten,” Tommy had returned, 
stoutly. 

Opposition had strengthened his resolu- 
tion. Tommy ran after and overtook the 
fat pony. 

Say, can he trot real fast ?” piped the lit- 
tle man, laying a hand oh the pony’s mane. 

The small lordling gazed down at the 
questioner with chubby dignity. The tall 
groom, of most wooden aspect, bestowed on 
Tommy a blank stare. 

o got a pony at home, and it can go 
like any thing; two-forty on a plank-road. 
I call it Jim, and they are keeping it in the 
country now. I wish Jim was here,” with 
a wistful glance at the quadruped. 

You live in America, I fancy,” observed 
the lordling, also patting the pony. 

Yes, I guess so. Where else should I 
live ? Do you come from there too ?” Tom- 
my put the question with the utmost sang- 
froid. Distinctions of class were not as yet 
clear to his little mind. 

Here was a boy mounted on a fat pony. 
As the lark soars to the sky, as the duck 
seeks the water-side, so did Tommy’s scar- 
let - clad legs bear him swiftly to the lord- 
ling’s side. 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


43 


am English,” returned the lordling, 
simply, and as if the possibility of being 
any thing else had never been before pre- 
sented to his youthful imagination. 

^‘Your ludship,” interposed the wooden 
groom, touching his hat, and glancing scorn- 
fully at Tommy as if he were an intrusive 

fly- 

Time me, Hopkins, and stand back,” said 
the lordling, touching the pony with his toy 
whip. 

I will,” cried Tommy, and drew from his 
manly vest-pocket a fairy watch, like a 
drop of shining gold, with his monogram on 
the back. This was a gift of his fond mam- 
ma’s last Christmas. 

Away trotted the pony, and Tommy the 
wistful was left a prey to the wooden-faced 
groom, who called him a Yankee, inquired 
after his relatives, with especial reference 
to his mother, finally striding away after 
his charge with derisive laughter, and re- 
turned no more. 

You are an ugly, hateful old thing !” cried 
Tommy, clenching his fists with a sense of 
burning injury, in which the groom’s chaff 
had not so much effect as keen disappoint- 
ment that he had not been invited to ride 
the fat pony. 

Why should not the lordling have given 
him. Tommy Pierman, a ride ? He would 
have done as much for a stranger boy. 

‘‘ I don’t care ! Jim can beat him at a 
trot, anyhow.” 

Mischief was rife in the bosom of Master 
Pierman, and Marie had not missed him. 
The little scarlet legs emerged from the 
park-gates and crossed to the Albert Hall; 
he would run away, and hide. A fierce- 
looking individual, with black whiskers, at 
the entrance demanded a sixpence, which 
Master Pierman paid from his new purse, 
of which he was becomingly proud, and 
climbed the stairs as directed. He would 
have liked to ask the man with black 
whiskers where he was going ; but a smile 
on the other’s face deterred him. Nay, more ; 
despite his fairy watch, and his new purse 
well lined with shillings and sixpences, the 
young traveler very much feared being put 
out by the black- whiskered person, and ig- 
nominiously restored to Marie. 

There were crystal conservatories, corri- 
dors lined with cabinets, porcelain, enamels, 
vases, cases of lace, all fragments of an un- 
successful industrial exhibition, still left for 
Tommy’s inspection. The hall, a dusky in- 
terior, was reached by weary climbing of 
little feet to that upper gallery where pict- 
ures seemed to have found a lofty and dig- 
nified oblivion on the walls. Tommy sur- 
veyed the field at a glance. An old man sat 
dozing over a desk of catalogues ; groups of 
visitors were visible here and there through 
the arches of the gallery. A young woman 
presided at a refreshment stand over stale 


cakes in glass dishes, which nobody appear- 
ed ever to purchase, sandwiches of dismal 
complexion, and barley-sugar. Tommy went 
up to the young woman, and purchased some 
sticks of barley -sugar, as a preliminary 
means to further enjoyment. He was safe; 
Marie could not find him, and drag him 
away to shop-windows. 

Lo ! a policeman in helmet appeared, and 
walked straight toward him. Had the po- 
liceman been sent for Mm f Tommy, aided 
by a guilty conscience, feared the law like 
all criminals ; his knees trembled, he clasp- 
ed Hans Andersen and the package of barley- 
sugar closer, prepared for the worst. The 
young woman at the bar had taken a mys- 
terious bottle from some secret recess, and 
poured a white fluid into a wine-glass. 
With jaunty aspect the knight in helmet 
advanced, and accepted the wine-glass ; a 
pungent, nauseating odor was diffused on 
the atmosphere. The potion was the po- 
liceman’s noonday nipper” of gin, and 
Tommy was saved. 

The fugitive placed half of the gallery 
between himself and the refreshment bar, 
then took a chair. Laying Hans Andersen 
and the barley-sugar on his knee, he looked 
around. 

Down below were rows of seats, and a 
stage lost in crimson twilight ; the rich tones 
of Tietjens, the silvery notes of Nilsson, the 
pure sweetness of Albani, blended to an echo 
of the living presence there for Tommy. On 
the wall behind was a large canvas, which 
attracted him by its vivid coloring. The 
scene represented an Eastern court with 
terraces visible beyond ; in the foreground 
a woman reclined on embroidered cushions, 
with a pipe beside her, and a negro boy ap- 
proaching behind. A ray of daylight from 
an unseen window fell full on this negro 
slave, who seemed to gather all the coloring 
of the picture ; his yellow satin tunic caught 
a shimmer like sunshine, the slippers on his 
feet glittered, the folds of his turban be- 
came a glory above his sable face, the gold 
salver he bore sparkled like a jewel. He 
looked at Tommy, and smiled. 

Now, why should a negro boy in a picture 
smile at him ? Tommy could not under- 
stand it in the least. 

‘‘This is the way out,” said the negro 
boy. 

“But I am not going away,” said Tom- 
my, crossly. 

“ Then look out for the policeman,” said 
the negro boy, winking, and, dropping on 
one knee gracefully, he served the lady with 
coffee. 

“ I don’t wish to be caught by the police- 
man,” said Tommy, rising hastily. 

“ Very well ; this is a door,” said the ne- 
gro boy. 

“ No, it’s a picture,” said Tommy ; but be- 
fore he knew it the canvas had opened, and 


44 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


the negro hoy was running before him, like 
a sunbeam, along the marble terrace. 

The next moment Tommy found himself , 
in a garden, trim paths bordered with shrub- 
bery branching on either side, and a tunnel 
opening before him. 

Why, it’s like the Zoological Gardens !” 
exclaimed Tommy; and just as he entered 
the tunnel a handsome tiger strolled in at 
the other end. 

Tommy’s heart beat loud and fast. He 
fell on his hands and knees, and awaited 
breathlessly the approach of the noble beast, 
pressing himself against the wall. The tiger 
seemed to block the whole passage ; the hairs 
standing erect upon its body w’ere visible 
on both sides of the stealthily gliding form. 
Tommy felt the hot breath scorch his cheek. 
Oh that he had remained with Marie, and 
escaped such deadly peril ! The tiger must 
have broken the bars of its cage. 

Nearer and nearer crept the velvet paws, 
the crouching body, the great, green globes 
of eyes so brilliant in the darkness, when a 
little creature, hopping absurdly, as if on 
short crutches, skipped past Tommy, and 
was instantly caught by the tiger. 

It’s a kangaroo,” said Tommy, excited- 
ly, and hastened to the entrance where the 
I)oor little kangaroo lay dead in the path, 
and the tiger had stopped, wiping its mouth 
with its paws, like a great cat. 

^^Mind you, the murder was committed 
by you in the tunnel,” said the tiger. 

^^Oh, oh, what a fib !” said Tommy, aston- 
ished by his own courage in contradicting 
the tiger. 

^^He prevaricates,” said the tiger, with 
dignity, addressing a rhinoceros and ele- 
j)hant that came hastening along. 

‘^I saw him kill the kangaroo, and pre- 
pare to eat it in the tunnel,” pursued the ti- 
ger, glibly. 

I never did !” cried Tommy, indignantly. 

Boys don’t eat ’em, ’cos they like to play 
with kangaroos better.” 

You hear him,” snarled the tiger, with a 
glint of the eye that made Tommy’s heart 
sink into his small boots. 

^‘1 guess I’ll go home now, although I 
should like to see the bears again,” return- 
ed our hero, striving to be calm. 

Ho, ho !” sniffed the rhinoceros, and poked 
Tommy wdth his snout. 

^^Ho, ho!” echoed the good-natured ele- 
phant. Shall I swing him over the bound- 
ary with my trunk? One, two — one, two.” 

Don’t!” said Tommy, feeling giddy. 
^^Your trunk goes like a pendulum. Do 
stop !” 

“ Justice ! justice !” cried the tiger. 

Justice !” piped innumerable little voices, 
as if in response ; and along trooped all the 
kangaroo relatives of the slain — small, gray 
kangaroos, with innocent rabbit faces, and 
elderly, grizzled kangaroos, with vast experi- 


ence of life as travelers, having hopped hith- 
er all the way from Australia. 

^^Take him to the lions for judgment,” 
said the tiger, fiercely. 

Yes, yes !” cried the bereaved kangaroo 
family, wringing their little fore paws in 
great sorrow over their affliction. 

The rhinoceros and elephant placed them- 
selves on either side of the prisoner, like con- 
stables ; the tiger and the kangaroos, bearing 
the victim in their midst, following. It was 
a mournful procession enough. Tommy’s fear 
only checked anger at every step, for the art- 
ful tiger inflamed the indignation of his as- 
sociates more and more against the stranger, 
and there was also danger of being trampled 
to death by the huge animals guarding him. ‘ 
This was worse than the policeman in hel- 
met. 

The seals lolled in the water with a the- 
atrical aspect, or rose to the surface with a 
professional sort of give-me-a-penny ” man- 
ner. Tommy would have stopped to gaze 
at them, but the rhinoceros rolled one small 
eye at him in warning to move on. Never 
had he been in such queer company. The 
interesting giraffes, carrying their heads in 
the air ; the brisk, pugnacious little beasts 
of the zebra tribe ; the surly hippopotamus 
— all stared at Tommy as he passed. The 
parrots, flashing like rainbows from perch 
to perch, shrieked in discordant clamor ; and 
the monkeys stood on their heads with de- 
light over the adventure, chattering in ev- 
ery imaginable key the while. 

This is the spot for foul play,” hissed 
the tiger in Tommy’s ear. When the monk- 
eys are talking, you could not hear a loco- 
motive whistle. Say two words and I’ll eat 

2/OM.” 

^^Oh, please — ” whimpered Tommy, and 
stopped, for the elephant was saying. 

The shortest route is through Peccary 
Crescent and along Wild-boar Terrace.” 

Along Peccary Crescent they accordingly 
went, a good locality, where all the little- 
pig people of foreign extraction dwelt in 
neat mansions, and squealed at Tommy, 
though whether in sympathy or derision it 
was impossible to decide. 

The lions lay in their cages, basking in the 
sun, their rich fur, tawny orange, cream, and 
velvet - brown, looking soft and inviting a 
caress, as did their apparent good humor. 

Cast him into the bear-pit, or give him to 
the American rattlesnake,” said the lions, 
yawning drowsily, as if Tommy’s fate were 
of no consequence to them. 

^^He is pronounced guilty, then,” pro- 
claimed the tiger, with ferocious joy. 

Allow me,” croaked a grave voice, and a 
venerable cockatoo came forward. 

It was observed that the tiger turned 
pale at this unexpected intrusion, and un- 
sheathed its claws, laying hold of Tommy’s 
jacket at the same moment. 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


45 


I liaye evidence to give for the defense,” 
said the cockatoo, standing on one leg, and 
cocking its beak in the air. 

(Tommy did not know that he was “ the 
defense.”) 

A commotion followed these words; the 
lions rose to their feet ; and Tommy, for the 
first time, observed the polar hear. That 
majestic animal occupied a fine house alone, 
and was farther accorded a tank of water, 
which might account for the snowy white- 
ness of his coat. The polar hear advanced 
to the bars and listened. Being duly sworn 
hy a cassowary, the cockatoo deposed: 

I am a white cockatoo with a green top- 
knot. I have resided here for several years, 
and the climate has injured my otherwise 
sweet voice. I am a bird of regular hab- 
its and good character, therefore my word 
should be relied upon. I was swinging in 
my hoop on the edge of the path to - day 
when I saw the late kangaroo clear the open 
space in one leap, and the tiger follow. The 
little boy is innocent. I am sure of it, be- 
cause he did not try to pull my tail in pass- 
ing, and the tiger brought out the kangaroo 
dead before the boy appeared.” 

And a precious row you are all making ! 
I only wish I had eaten it, and the boy too,” 
growled the tiger, still clawing Tommy’s 
jacket, menacingly. 

What was this? Tommy, with a gasp 
of terror, had wrenched himself away from 
his enemy, and ran toward the cage where 
stood the polar bear. There was a clamor 
of mingled voices behind, and the patter of 
pursuing steps. 

Oh, hide me, do !” panted Tommy ; and 
the polar bear, extending one paw, drew 
him through the bars as easily as if he had 
been a mouse, just as the tiger came up with 
the constables, elephant and rhinoceros, who 
had been so shamefully influenced by that 
wily beast. He was saved by the polar 
bear. 

A voice said in his ear, 

^^Ah, here he is! Tommy dear, wake 
up.” 

Tommy found himself again seated on the 
chair in the upper gallery of the Albert Hall. 
Below was the crimson twilight of shrouded 
seats ; on the opposite wall the negro boy, in 
amber-satin tunic, presented the gold salver 
to his mistress, and still smiled ; Hans An- 
dersen and the package of barley-sugar had 
fallen on the floor. Miss Nancy Hawse was 
shaking him by the arm, and behind her 
stood Marie, flushed excitement superseding 
her usual sallow calmness. 

You get out !” said Tommy, very rudely, 
inserting his knuckles into both eyes. 


CHAPTER YIII. 

^^LIES HAVE LONG LEGS.” 

I SHALL take him home,” said Miss Nan- 
cy, firmly. 

But, madame, we know the streets,” pro- 
tested Marie. We can not get again lost.” 

‘‘ Very likel/ not ; but if you stop to gos- 
sip with every Frenchman you meet, Tom- 
my may get again lost,” said Miss Nancy, 
sharply. Fancy what a victim a well- 
dressed child is for thieves in a great city.” 

Marie compressed her thin lips, and look- 
ed askance at Miss Nancy out of her black 
eyes. 

Tommy darling, come with me,” coaxed 
Miss Nancy, and her heart overflowed to the 
poor little man, who might have proved a 
prey to the world had she not found him. 

I don’t wish to,” grumbled Tommy, his 
brain still perplexed by his abrupt recall 
from dream-land, and disposed to regard the 
lady as an enemy. 

^^You must,” she rejoined, chilled by the 
repulse, and growing silent. 

Marie sat opposite in the cab, and still 
eyed her with compressed lips and sullen 
aspect. 

Earlier that day Miss Nancy had emerged 
on the landing of Mulcher’s Hotel with the 
resolution to find Howard Denby. The 
boots of her opposite neighbor were still 
outside his door; she could not refrain from 
glancing at them. 

Character exists in boots. There is your 
dapper, slim boot, highly polished, which 
stands naturally in the first position of the 
dancing - master on the mat; your large, 
square, obstinate boot, planted most firm- 
ly straight ahead, and somehow associated 
with the mud of this life; your cheerful 
poor devil of a boot, possibly worn shabby, 
but making the best of it with a patch or 
so, equally suggestive of a whistling owner. 
Miss Nancy could discover none of these 
peculiarities, however. The boots opposite 
were those of a young man, no doubt, and 
one aware that he had a well-curved instep ; 
still they were neither foppish nor churlish. 

She went down -stairs meditating with 
satisfaction that Mrs. Pierman would send 
her the address of Mr. Denby, and she be 
thus spared the further humiliation of seek- 
ing the society of persons who disliked her. 

Mrs. Sharpe greeted Miss Nancy with a 
pleasant cordiality, and the lonely woman’s 
nature warmed toward this lady, who veiled 
much kindness beneath a frosty exterior. 
There was no note from Mrs. Pierman. Again 
did Miss Nancy wander forth into the Lon- 
don streets. Covent Garden was one bloom 
of flowers, and scarcely less glowing tinted 
fruits, strawberries of superb size and fla- 
vor, luscious gooseberries, pyramids of ruddy 
cherries, golden greengages, and the rich 
purple tints of plums. Never had Miss Nan- 


46 


MISS NANCY^S PILGEIMAGE. 


cy beheld such strawberries, gooseberries, or 
plums. She paused to feast her eyes on the 
show, despite the mire underfoot, the Babel 
of voices, the moving throngs of market-men 
poising Ijaskets above their heads. Vans 
passed, filled with charity -children making 
excursions into the country^ flags waving, 
shrill little voices cheering, and discordant 
bands braying in unison. Most humane and 
touching spectacle furnished by the London 
streets. Miss Nancy recalled vividly Far- 
jeon’s Golden Grain.’^ 

Here was a chemisFs, with a placard in 
the window announcing American ^^Pick- 
me-up ” bitters ; there a Spread-eagle Tav- 
ern, dingy and of tarnished aspect, as if the 
London fog had taken all spirit out of the 
noble bird. Later, Miss Nancy found her- 
self pausing near a great railway station. 
Yes, indeed, a holiday was due, a bank holi- 
day, and already the throng was departing 
in search of country. What a lesson in hu- 
manity were these crowds striving to catch 
a gleam of sunshine in a workaday world ! 
Hansom -cabs tilted along at break -neck 
speed; four-wheelers, laden with luggage, 
plunged after. At a warning shriek from a 
locomotive, foot-passengers ran wildly, pa- 
terfamilias with basket and bundles, mater- 
familias with the fat baby, old gentlemen 
limping hastily beside toddling old ladies. 
Two slender young clerks appeared carry- 
ing their box between them, with occasion- 
al pauses to change hands and rest. 

Oh, if I were Queen Victoria, or the ami- 
able Princess of Wales, or Baroness Burdett 
Coutts, I would just station my secretary at 
such a railway d^pot to slip sly sovereigns 
into the hands of the young lads, the anx- 
ious mothers carrying the babies, and the 
patient old men colored by life surroundings 
to the hue of their own parchments.’^ Miss 
Nancy thus soliloquized, aglow with vision- 
ary enthusiasm — “ They should all have one 
holiday.” 

She had agreed with Mrs. Sharpe over the 
tea-pot that summer never visited these isles. 
Now a dome of glass seemed to have been 
placed over the whole metropolis, convert- 
ing it into an exhausted hive. The atmos- 
phere was dull, opaque, lifeless, producing 
quiescence, an oppression, unlike clear, fierce 
heat which scorches, and a damp, misty va- 
por stifled the lungs. Just when Miss Nan- 
cy had arrived at her sage conclusion con- 
cerning summer heats, this atmosphere crept 
upon, swathed, and suffocated her panting 
senses, clogged her untiring energies, and 
clung to her like the adhesive touch of Lon- 
don soot, which leaves nothing pure. Pity 
the poor of the East End at such times, the 
blighted, feeble lives longing for one breath 
of fresh air. She would see the Albert Me- 
morial again, that magnet to her fancy, and 
return to Mulcher’s Hotel, exhausted. 

The golden spire rose before her, the 


broad steps invited her nearer approach, 
when a lonne ran against her with an excla- 
mation of alarm. Miss Nancy recognized 
Marie, and, turning, caught her by the arm. 

^^What has ha^jpenedf’ she demanded, 
struck by Marie’s flushed countenance. 

Then she heard the direful news : Tom- 
my was there a moment before — mais ouiy le 
pHit ange ! — and now he was gone! Marie 
immediately cast the burden of Tommy’s dis- 
appearance on Miss Nancy’s shoulders ; high 
and low always did shift responsibility in 
that pleasing fashion. Tommy was lost in 
London, and Miss Nancy must find him. 

Her first thought was the Albert Hall op- 
posite. She saw in it a rock of safety, be- 
yond which she dreaded to seek the open sea 
of widely diverging streets. She shudder- 
ed to think of ‘^Florence Dombey,” stripped 
by good Mrs. Brown.” A man with black 
whiskers received sixpence admission at the 
entrance. Yes, he remembered a little boy 
who entered Hall a matter of arf an hour 
ago. Miss Nancy looked at Marie severely ; 
the girl tossed her head, and protested volu- 
bly it was but ten minutes. 

He may have gone out of the other en- 
trance to the Industrial Buildings by this 
time,” said Miss Nancy, hastening swiftly up 
the stairs. 

What need to describe how they searched 
behind cabinets and in dark nooks, with 
ever-increasing dread of not discovering the 
little scarlet legs or yachting hat, until the 
gallery was reached at last. 

Mrs. Pierman and her daughter Blanche 
were deeply interested in a discussion on 
court gossip with Mrs. Cocks. The latter 
lady, with her snowy hair towering in a soft 
puffy roll above her rosy, dimpled face, was 
explaining matters to her respectful listen- 
ers in Mrs. Pierman’s sitting-room. 

The queen can not receive Cardinal Man- 
ning, because — ” Mrs. Cocks, who prided her- 
self on being au fait with the habits of the 
rulers of the earth, had just said, when the 
door opened, and Marie rushed in. 

‘^Madame, mille pardons! but mademoi- 
selle would carry him away.” 

Mrs. Pierman rose to her feet in bewil- 
derment just as Miss Nancy appeared, lead- 
ing Tommy by the hand. 

Oh, my dear Miss Hawse !” cried Blanche, 
running forward and embracing her. Why 
have you not been here before ? Has Tom- 
my been playing tricks ? You naughty dar- 
ling ! I can see you have been in mischief. 
Ah, I know you, sir !” 

The young girl knelt on the carpet, and 
threw her arms around Tommy, who permit- 
ted the caress moodily. 

It was the boy on a pony like Jim,” he 
vouchsafed to explain. ^^Then she came 
and took me away.” 

Took you away where, pet ?” asked 
Blanche, smiling up at Miss Nancy. 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


I don’t know,” vaguely. 

What a goose !” laughed Blanche, and 
rose to her feet, conscious of a chilliug cold- 
ness which had fallen upon the room. 

Mrs. Cocks was greeting Miss Nancy with 
dimpling affability : if there was disturbance 
in the atmosphere, the lady was deaf and 
blind to the possibility. Marie was whisper- 
ing to Mrs. Pierman in the window, with ea- 
ger gesticulation, and her mistress glanced 
toward Miss Nancy from time to time as she 
listened. 

Please be seated,” pleaded Blanche, dis- 
turbed by her mother’s lack of cordiality. 

Mamma, Miss Hawse wishes to speak with 
you. Surely Marie can wait.” 

‘‘ Take Tommy to his room,” said Mrs. 
Pierman to the ftonwe, aud at length turned 
her attention to Miss Nancy, who, morti- 
fied by her cold greeting, remained stand- 
ing, in spite of Mrs. Cocks’s gentle purling 
stream of talk, and the evident distress of 
Blanche. 

I found your child in the Albert Hall ,* 
he had strayed away while Marie was gos- 
siping with some stranger in the park. She 
is not to be trusted in London streets, I fear, 
unless this day’s experience should prove a 
lesson to her.” Miss Nancy spoke in a dry 
tone, under the weight of an indefinable sus- 
picion, which was disapproval of herself. 

Was Mrs. Pierman flint by nature, that 
she did not respond in warm gratitude to 
any one for the restoration of her child ? 
She asked herself this question with a shock 
of wonder and alarm that sent the blood to 
her face. 

I am very much obliged to you,” said 
Mrs. Pierman’s mouth, with prim formality, 
while Mrs. Pierman’s eyes flashed a glance 
of irritable anger. Marie may have her 
faults — who of us is without them? — still, 
she is an excellent, faithful servant in inten- 
tion, and has lived with me five years.” 

For a moment Miss Nancy was dumb, then 
the color died away slowly out of her face, 
and she rejolied, 

I have merely done my duty. You know 
best.” 

An awkward silence ensued. Mrs. Cocks, 
deaf and blind to the ripple of outward cir- 
cumstance, suggested that a day spent at 
Sydenham would vastly amuse Miss Nancy. 

Do not forget the gallery of the Victo- 
ria Cross,” smiled the lady. There you 
will see thejsoldier’s face illuminated by the 
lighted shell he is carrying beyond the mag- 
azine of Gibraltar, and sepoys trodden in the 
dust with a last expiring glitter of hatred in 
their eyes by soldiers in scarlet and gold uni- 
forms.” 

‘^Yes, very interesting,” assented Miss 
Nancy, absently. She must not lose the op- 
portunity of inquiring about Howard Den- 
by. Will you oblige me with the address 
of your friend, Mr. Denby? You have not 


47 

sent it to my hotel, I presume,” with a glance 
at Mrs. Pierman. 

The latter flushed slightly. She had told 
one fib hastily, and must now add another 
to strengthen her position. Many a fabric 
of falsehood has been built up in this way ; 
the first foundation lie could not be retract- 
ed. 

You are mistaken, I am sure. I know 
nothing about Mr. Denby,” she said, languid- 
ly, and with the aspect of awaiting Miss 
Nancy’s departure to relieve her feelings in 
animated speech. 

^^I am sorry you should have forgotten 
the matter,” said Nancy, gravely. I have 
been waiting to restore something to him.” 

I am ignorant of his address. He prom- 
ised to call, but has not done so,” said Mrs. 
Cocks. “ My son shall find him, if possible. 
Such a clever man as he is, and such a proud 
creature, too.” 

Blanche twisted the golden links of her 
chatelaine in her slender fingers, and looked 
steadily at the carpet. 

^^I must find him,” said Miss Nancy, and 
then, somehow, she was in the hotel corridor, 
with Blanche Pierman’s hand on her arm. 

^^Wait until papa comes home. He will 
understand,” whispered the girl. No ? 
Then I shall come to see you in the morn- 
ing ; and, oh ! what have you got of Howard 
Denby’s ?” 

Your mother would not wish you to vis- 
it me, evidently. I have Mr. Denby’s pock- 
et-book, my dear, saved from the wreck. He 
rescued you, Blanche ; never forget that.” 

^^I have not forgotten, but I was not 
worth saving. Miss Hawse, I am a merce- 
nary wretch. There !” 

Mrs. Pierman had seated herself beside 
Mrs. Cocks, and produced her pocket-hand- 
kerchief. She was trembling with nervous 
excitement. 

Thank Heaven, she is gone at last! I 
should have broken down soon. Mrs. Cocks, 
that woman tried to rob me of my child ! 
Mario found her dragging him into a cab, 
and she forbade the l) 07 ine to follow, only the 
faithful creature threatened to call the po- 
lice.” 

Impossible !” said Mrs. Cocks, one of her 
dimples disappearing in grave astonish- 
ment. 

^^You may well say so. It is revenge!” 
sobbed Mrs. Pierman, shaking like a leaf 
from head to foot. She has always been 
in love with my husband, and now she is 
trying to be quits with me, his wife.” 

Mrs. Cocks nodded her snowy head gen- 
tly ; her sympathy could not be considered 
demonstrative even now. 

Truth, my dear Mrs. Pierman, is ever 
stranger than fiction,” she said, musingly. 

Poor Miss Nancy went away stung with 
the conviction that she was misunderstood, 
and would be misrepresented to John. What 


48 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


transformation had passed over Margaret 
Pierman that she should even take amiss — 
nay, with sheer ingratitude — the rescue of 
Tommy ? Was she mad, literally out of her 
mind, that common sense failed to influence 
her ? John conld not he so foolish as to be- 
lieve idle tales. In her anger she made a 
dozen hasty resolves en route for Mulcher’s 
Hotel, and discarded each before reaching 
the door of that charming abode. John was 
Margaret’s husband, and she was glad to 
have saved Tommy as his son. 

Dinner was left untouched by the discon- 
certed lady. She even shed a few tears 
w hile removing her bonnet — hot, angry tears 
of outraged pride — of which she was imme- 
diately ashamed as a weakness. Why could 
not people be polite in this world, if noth- 
ing more? Here was she, Nancy Hawse, 
treated like a culprit for finding Tommy 
Pierman, and denouncing his nurse. In pre- 
occupied vexation, she suffered the cynical 
waiter to remove her soup and meat nn- 
tastedj her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes 
fixed on the dismal oil-paintings opposite. 

Mrs. Sharpe glanced in the door of the 
coffee-room with the very aspect of one ram- 
bling forth in search of possible diversion. 

My son-in-law, Mr. Vidal, is going to the 
opera,” she said. Do come into my sitting- 
room. Seems to me the Hole grows worse 
daily.” 

Seated in Mrs. Sharpe’s room, with that 
lady in sympathetic mood opposite, Miss 
Nancy’s depression was lightened. Before 
she was w^hoUy prepared to reveal her se- 
cret, Mrs. Sharpe, spectacles on nose, had 
pounced upon it. 

Bless you ! the nurse told a lie to clear 
herself of blame,” cried the lady. Can you 
not see through that ?” 

I never thought of it. Why, I brought 
her home safely,” returned Miss Nancy. 

It’s low cunning, my dear,” pursued Mrs. 
Sharpe, rubbing her hands, well pleased with 
her own cleverness. You do not expect as 
a lady to match low cunning. Now, I have 
known the children’s nurse, a snub-nosed 
creature who could not write her own name, 
twine the whole family around her little 
finger through influence over the mistress. 
Yes, indeed. In the first place, she bullies 
the children not to tell tales of her ; in the 
second, she studies and plays on the mother’s 
weaknesses ; and, if all these efforts fail, what 
is her third step ?” 

I am sure I can not decide,” replied Nan- 
cy, with a somewhat superior smile. 

Mrs. Sharpe raised her forefinger impress- 
ively. 

She tells the mistress fibs about opinions 
expressed by certain persons of darling John* 
nie, or Susy’s bad manners. This spark nev- 
er fails to ignite the magazine in the mater- 
nal bosom.” 

^^It seems so absurd for the uneducated 


classes to have such influence,” said Miss 
Nancy, in her school-mistress vein. 

A pity, no doubt ; but as long as we live 
such influence will exist. Depend upon that 
fact.” 

Could it be that Marie had rushed into 
Mrs. Pierman’s presence prepared to excul- 
pate herself by telling a falsehood? 

Now, there is my friend, Martha Dunne,” 
pursued Mrs. Sharpe, taking up an open let- 
ter from the table, as if impelled to a recip- 
rocal confidence. She is in Edinburgh, and 
nothing will induce her to come here to me 
at present. I don’t say that her hobbies are 
unnatural, especially for an eccentric single 
woman, ahem ! She is studying the ques- 
tion of woman’s work, and she would go on 
her hands and knees to achieve her end. 
By -the -by, she was wrecked on the Ads, 
and her brother was drowned. Dear me, 
did you know them ?” 

Miss Nancy shook her head. She heard 
Mrs. Sharpe as one in a dream, and was 
obliged to feign interest. The scene of the 
afternoon was impressed on her brain, as if 
stamped by a hot iron. General conversa- 
tion could not erase that sharp and deeply 
imprinted picture. 

After that the ladies separated, mutually 
refreshed by their evening. 

She is a good soul,” Mrs. Sharpe solilo- 
quized while removing her cap. She knows 
more about books and maps than humanity, 
however.” 

Miss Nancy wearily opened her well-read 
pocket Bible instinctively at the Psalms, 
that refuge for the discouraged and depress- 
ed, as well as the exultant. Morning brought 
a surprise for her. Blanche Pierman tripped 
up the stairs, smiling and blushing, with a 
blue feather in her hat. She shook her fin- 
ger playfully at the boots still reposing on 
the mat outside the door of Miss Nancy’s op- 
posite neighbor. 

What a lazy man to be sleeping so late !” 
she said, and brought a waft of fresh life 
into Miss Nancy’s dark room, which she x)ro- 
fessed to like much better than her own. 

Miss Nancy’s first impulse of pleasure was 
speedily tempered with doubt. Blanche had 
come alone, and without asking permission. 

I am an American girl,” said the visitor, 
perching herself on the high window-ledge. 
‘^The London world must get used to me, 
and realize that I am no worse than my 
neighbors.” 

But your mother,” demurred Miss Nan- 
cy, taking the two little gloved hands in her 
own. 

^^She would not object,” said Blanche, 
quickly. Besides, you know the code of 
Young America is, ^ Parents, obey your chil- 
dren.’ Papa — I mean all of us, were so grate- 
ful to you for finding Tommy.” 

Miss Nancy’s eyes filled with sudden tears. 

‘^My pretty bird!” was all the'response 


MISS NANCY’S 

she could make. She would not complain 
to a child of a mother’s conduct. 

Blanche regarded her wistfully, thought- 
fully for a time, swinging one foot on that 
high perch in the window. Such radiance 
as Mulcher’s Hotel could gather from the 
day was showered like gold-dust on her 
waving hair, smooth, rounded cheek, aud 
revealed something in changeful eyes which 
the elder lady could not fathom. 

^^Show me Howard Denhy’s hook,” she 
coaxed, with a little flickering blush deep- 
ening the rose tints of her winning face. 

How she pounced upon the treasure, and 
held it tightly clasped in both hands after- 
ward ! Ah me ! had feminine curiosity any 
thing to do with this untimely visit ? 

The most extraordinary young man !” 
she pouted. Why, he left us with scarce- 
ly a word ; even the Cockses do not know 
what has become of him. Rockwell has 
promised to find him for you, however. He 
held me in the ropes that fearful night, 
when I should have died alone.” 

The girl’s face had paled with sudden 
emotion ; her eyes dilated as she leaued to- 
ward Miss Nancy. 

He went away without giving even papa 
the opportunity of expressing our gratitude.” 

^‘Expressions of gratitude may he irk- 
some to him,” said Miss Nancy. “ They oft- 
en are to brave men.” 

“ He should not evade us,” flashed Blanche. 
“ It is wrong, mean, detestably proud. Miss 
Hawse, he shall not, either.” 

She drew from her bag a tiny packet, 
sealed, and tied with a dainty silk cord. 

“ When you restore his pocket-book, please 
give him this from me, Blanche Pierman.” 

“He may misunderstand you,” doubted 
sober middle age, accepting the packet. 

“ Let him, if he dares ! Give it to him 
with your own hands, dear Miss Hawse. 
Oh, when we all come to die, I think we 
shall see again the black waters, the white 
veil of fog, and our graves beyond !” 

Her voice faltered with sobs ; she burst 
iuto tears. Miss Nancy was also strongly 
moved: before she could prepare to com- 
fort her guest, however, Blanche had brush- 
ed away the tears from her long eyelashes, 
aud was smiling tremulously. 

“ I will come to you every morning. That 
shall be our secret,” she whispered, giving 
Miss Nancy a farewell kiss. 

“ No, my dear, you must never come again 
without your mother’s leave,” said the lat- 
ter, firmly. 

“E/i, lierij then you are glad to be rid of 
me.” 

“ Oh, Blanche, how can you — ” 

But Blanche was gone, with a mocking 
bow to the boots of the opposite door — gone 
with a rustle of silken train and the jingle 
of silver ornaments at her belt, her airy 
laughter floating back to the ear of the 
4 


PILGRIMAGE. 49 

owner of the boots like the music of anoth- 
er sphere. 

He was seated on the side of his bed, hold- 
ing his head between his hands in an atti- 
tude of dejection, if not despair. 

“As well beat out life against rocks as to 
try to make these people believe,” he cried 
aloud, and just then the rippling laughter 
of Blanche Pierman reached him. 

With a flush of glad recognition, and a 
responsive smile, he sprung up and ap- 
proached the door. Had he opened it, he 
would have stood face to face with Miss 
Nancy on the landing. Instead, the smile 
faded to an expression of preoccupied care, 
his hand dropped, and he turned to a table 
covered with papers. The boots remained 
outside. 

“A most dissipated man, young or old, I 
fear,” sighed Miss Nancy, regarding them 
pensively. “ It is twelve o’clock — ‘ yet a 
little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding 
of the hands to sleep. So shall thy poverty 
come as one that traveleth, and tliy want as 
an armed man.’ ” 

Thus did Miss Nancy judge her neighbor 
as correctly as human wisdom, gathering 
aside its own garments, usually balances 
good and evil in others. 


CHAPTER IX. 

MR. Vidal’s mother-in-la^v. 

“What is the use of it all?” mused Mrs. 
Sharpe, sniffing at the camphor bottle gloom- 
ily. “I should like an honest American 
breakfast, for one thing: not your sloppy 
tea, heavy bread, and pale bacon. Ugh !” 

“ Consider the interest England possesses 
for us, though, as the home of our forefa- 
thers ; and, then, it is such a lovely country 
of parks, lawns, and shrubbery when the sun 
does shine,” Miss Nancy ventured to reply, 
for her companion’s mood was an unpromis- 
ing one. 

“ Ob, I have heard all that before — a doz- 
en times at least,” responded Mrs. Sharpe, 
quite rudely, in the excess of her irritability. 
“ The sun never does shine.” 

“ This is an exceptional year,” urged Miss 
Nancy, cheerfully. 

“ Does it make the circumstance of tour- 
ists finding the scenes they wish to visit two 
feet under water any the pleasanter to term 
the calamity ‘late heavy floods?’ Fiddle- 
dee - dee ! The natives should have been 
made web-footed, like the ducks, to suit their 
climate. Only look at that woman paddling 
along over yonder. What boots!” 

Miss Nancy sighed inaudibly, and glanced 
out of the window. The prospect was not 
encouraging, certainly, of dingy houses on 
whose walls the soot of years had settled, 
of muddy crossing, of dull sky, and a sheet 


50 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


of descending rain having that peculiar yel- 
low tinge which seems to stain. Within, the 
prospect was scarcely less dreary — of an an- 
gular sitting-room, with the aspect of hav- 
ing been wedged into a vacant space of the 
hotel, a smoky fire burning on the hearth, 
and languishing in the chilly July morning ; 
some glass candelabra dangling on the chim- 
ney-piece, and the Princess of Wales smiling 
down from the sombre heights above, en- 
livening the place with her amiability and 
beauty. Then there sat Mrs. Sharpe, the 
very adjustment of her cap -ribbons, the 
very wrinkle about her rather long nose be- 
tokening a settled intention to bowl down 
any feeble little ten-pin of an argument Miss 
Nancy might set up on this inauspicious 
day. The latter tapped the window-pane, 
and glanced askance at Mr. Vidal’s mother- 
in-law, wishing that the mantle of compan- 
ionship had not descended quite so heavily 
on her own shoulders. She was a voluntary 
victim, to be sure. In avoiding Scylla, the 
Piermans, had she become already ingulfed 
in a Chary bdis, Mrs. Sharpe ? What more 
natural than that bride and bridegroom 
should flit over to Paris, leaving Mrs. Sharpe, 
a lady of some w^ealth and many whims, in 
the care of an old maid? For what purpose 
are old maids placed in the world, except to 
be useful to their happy juniors? 

Suddenly Mrs. Sharpe exclaimed, 

I am glad he is to be buried at last ! I 
am quite tired of staring at the hatchment 
opposite, I am sure.” 

He is the last Lord Bobbin,” said Miss 
Nancy, meditatively. 

He must be glad to die, if his whole life 
has been spent in that house, with nothing 
but rain and mud outside,” said Mrs. Sharpe, 
in her most sombre tone. 

They watched the funeral pass from the 
mansion where the melancholy emblem had 
hung on the gray-black wall, a most respect- 
able and lugubrious train of high coaches, 
and hearse with nodding plumes, the very 
coachmen having that sable blackness of as- 
pect which made their rosy faces appear un- 
duly bright on such an occasion. No mar- 
vel that tender little David Copperfield 
smelled hot crape with horror in his sensi- 
tive childhood. 

^^The coachmen should have their faces 
blackened with cork to match, like the ne- 
gro minstrels,” observed Mrs. Sharpe, smil- 
ing grimly. 

Why need Lord Bobbin die, and be buried 
on this particular morning, when Mrs. Sharpe 
was so low in spirit and left in Miss Nancy’s 
care? The latter rose, and shook off the 
gathering gloom ; she even crossed the room 
and laid her hand on her companion’s shoul- 
der. 

We must become accustomed to rain,” 
she said, with assumed gayety. ^‘Let us 
visit the Tower to-day.” 


Mrs. Sharpe looked up dubiously. 

‘‘What is the use ?” she repeated. “You 
know that we went there early one Monday 
morning, when the working -people should 
be employed, if they ever are, and found it 
a free day, with the British public crowding 
in fifty at a time.” 

Miss Nancy became desperate. 

“ Suit yourself,” she said, firmly. “ I am 
going to the Tower, and in a hansom-cab.” 

“ Bless me !” exclaimed Mrs. Sharpe, with 
sudden alacrity, and, rising briskly, she put 
on her bonnet without another word. 

How has the American nation resisted the 
hansom-cab so long ? Surely no race on earth 
is better adapted than ourselves to enjoy the 
break-neck pace, the sweep around corners, 
the spurring-ahead of other vehicles, shav- 
ing wheels by an inch, and the feet of pe- 
destrians by a hair-breadth, of this celebra- 
ted conveyance. 

Rattle, jolt, trot, trot ! The exhilaration 
of the daring deed stirred Miss Nancy’s blood 
even as the pace of the family horse at home 
made her nervous as he approached the rail- 
road track, dragging the venerable “ carry- 
all.” She glanced with a sense of superior- 
ity at passing omnibuses; she felt that she 
held her own with landaus, even if driven 
by dignified coachmen in pink top-boots. 
Mrs. Sharpe had a helpless appearance, like 
a baby in a perambulator, and gazed fixedly 
at the horse’s tail. The hansom dashed up 
one thoroughfare and down another at a 
furious pace. A prison -van moved slowly 
along, followed by such dangerous atoms as 
find cohesion readily in public excitement. 
How promptly did Miss Nancy imagine the 
inmate to be a convict, who had already 
served a twenty -years’ term, now arrested 
for petty crime, because in returning to free- 
dom he found himself at odds with society ! 
A bit of broken glass wmuld aid him to sui- 
cide on re-entering his cell, perhaps. 

Those human wafers, sandwiched between 
placards of advertisements, straggled near 
the curbstone, and were read by cockneys, 
walking backward for the purpose, entire- 
ly irrespective of the feelings of the inmate. 
Little boys and girls presented oyster-shells 
with a persuasive “Remember the grotto,” 
which meant that the season of the delicious 
bivalve had commenced. At least this was 
a change from the dreadful mornings spent 
in the hotel. Miss Nancy was just congrat- 
ulating herself on the happy inspiration of 
visiting the Tower, when they were caught 
in the eddy of a crowd gathered about two 
sailors. 

“ It is a riot,” shrieked Mrs. Sharpe, clutch- 
ing her companion. 

The crowd had taken sides, with the 
startling rapidity peculiar to the denizens 
of towns in decision. The sailors pumrnel- 
ed a civilian ; a tall, handsome soldier, the 
perfect type of a Sergeant Troy, looked on 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


51 


scornfully at the other branch of the serv- 
ice ; and the cab paused. 

Let me get out ; we shall be murdered !” 
cried Mrs. Sharpe, struggling to unfasten the 
leather door, which confined her, like a bib. 

Pray be quiet,” urged Miss Nancy, her 
eye fixed apprehensively on the assailants. 

Men-of-war’s-men, more hilarious in Lon- 
don than elsewhere on shore, presumably 
going to the train for Plymouth, prey to all 
land vultures, yet protected heartily by the 
populace as well. Such were the deadly el- 
ements gathered about the two ladies in the 
cab. There had been an altercation with 
the land vulture. In a moment the throng 
gathered; women took sides, impulsively 
hurling themselves into the fray ; the hu- 
man wafers, pursuing their profession harm- 
lessly on the curb-stone, either cast away 
their advertising envelopes, or were flatten- 
ed beneath them altogether on the pave- 
ment. Sergeant Tjioy, in spotless scarlet, 
looked on haughtily at the blundering, bois- 
terous sailors. Little boot -blacks, in red 
blouses, gathered to see the fun. Elements 
of discord appeared in a flash of intelligence 
from everywhere — the magnet, a row. Miss 
Nancy waited in sickening fear, with sus- 
pended breath. Would there be a fight, when 
a knife would flash, in the heat of passion, 
giving a thrust never to be repaired this side 
of the grave? Lo! one policeman, in helmet 
arrayed, walked into the midst, arrested his 
men. The sailors dispersed ; the screaming 
women, who had added fuel to combustibles 
by their fervor of rage, were gone ; the sol- 
dier, with a smile, turned jauntily on his 
heel. The hansom started violently. 

Mercy! Whoa! The horse is running 
away!” exclaimed Mrs. Sharpe, endeavoring 
to grasp the reins above her head. 

DonT !” implored Miss Nancy. You for- 
get that the man is guiding the horse from 
behind.” Always sensitive to ridicule, she 
became acutely aware, with cheeks deeply 
dyed crimson, that the occupants of a pass- 
ing omnibus roof, known as the knife- 
board,” were laughing at Mrs. Sharpe, and 
that the dismembered fragments of the re- 
cent crowd were also prepared to transfer 
their attention from the sailors to the cab. 
Terrible lash of street ridicule ! Miss Nan- 
cy already beheld Mr. Vidal’s mother-in-law 
portrayed in Punch, with a possible likeness 
of herself beside her. Mrs. Sharpe was en- 
tirely unmoved by such considerations. 

^‘Make the driver take a quiet street. 
How stupid you are. Miss Hawse ! We shall 
get our necks broken in this horrid inven- 
tion.” 

I can not stop him yet,” replied Miss Nan- 
cy, with some obstinacy. 

I will do so, then.” 

With energy, redoubled by anger and 
fright, Mrs. Sharpe poked her umbrella-point 
through the little trap-door in the roof just 


in season to come in contact with the cab- 
by’s left eye, as he stooped to inspect his fare. 
Perhaps that cabman took base advantage 
of the situation ; but when he deposited the 
ladies at the Tower gate, the injured optic 
was carefully bound up in a bandana hand- 
kerchief, and his manner partook of such a 
mixture of the doleful and the belligerent, 
that Miss Nancy hastily lightened her purse 
in his favor, visions of police courts floating 
before her fancy. Afterward, the conviction 
smote her sharply that she had intended to 
give him two shillings as a balm to injured 
eye-sight, and had actually bestowed a gold- 
en sovereign instead. 

Mrs. Sharpe protested against such folly, 
and kept her own purse safely in her pock- 
et the while. Why is it that the x>oor, lit- 
tle, shabby purses come out so much more 
frequently in this life than the sleek, well- 
filled ones ? The elder lady then remarked, 
pleasantly : 

You will never find me in one of those 
things again, now that I am out alive. No, 
not if I walk home, which I should judge 
would take about two days from this out-of- 
the-way place.” 

Down on the brink of river Thames, ven- 
erable walls and para]3ets greeted Miss Nan- 
cy. Oh, if father had been there ! Enter- 
ing the gates, the busy streets, teeming with 
modern traffic, were left behind ; the centu- 
ry seemed left behind, save for such remind- 
ers as Victoria’s imperial state crown, blaz- 
ing with myriads of gems; the baptismal 
font of royal christenings ; and the presence 
of Scotch Fusileers, issuing with hum of bag- 
Ijipes, from the Waterloo Barracks. Un- 
doubtedly, Miss Nancy was a sentimental 
tourist. The burden of Mrs. Sharpe’s mood 
lessened as she reached this goal of many a 
fireside reverie at home. The traveler from 
Briarbush would have knelt in reverence be- 
fore the Pyramids, and the squib of histo- 
rian Fuller would have scarcely i)rovoked a 
smile. ^‘The Pyramids themselves, doting 
with age, have forgotten the names of their 
founders.” How much more, then, her awe 
and solemnity in this place, familiar with 
American childhood, a heritage carried across 
seas ! 

The old warden, handsome, keen -eyed, 
and with silvery beard, in his quaint garb 
of king’s yeoman, a tarnished diadem stamp- 
ed between bis shoulders, a fantastic hat or- 
namented with ribbon on his head, became 
a magician to her fancy. He waved his ba- 
ton ; his sing-song story was the monoto- 
nous ripple of a thin stream of falling wa- 
ters scarcely heeded, yet weaving a spell. 

The rain had ceased as suddenly as the 
temper of Mrs. Sharpe veered ; summer sun- 
shine had come on the whole city unexpect- 
edly ; bridges, palaces, squares, and monu- 
ments glittered in the unwonted radiance, 
as if a mist veil had been swept aside, re- 


52 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


vealing only the magnificent. There was a 
bloom of pale turquois tints on the river’s 
surface, seen through spaces of the Traitor’s 
Gate ; the old buildings stood half in light 
and half in shadow ; wherever a vine might 
loop sprays of tender green about rugged, 
narrow casements, the mantle was flung. 
The Scotch Fusileers formed in parade, and 
the roll of the little drummer-boy sounded 
cheerily. In one angle of the soft, gray ob- 
scurity a flame of scarlet wavered along the 
wall j it was a sentinel at his post. 

The old magician waved his wand, and 
the summer sunshine darkened to sorrow- 
ful, dreary winter storms ; the Scotch Fusil- 
eers, the smart little drummer-boy, and the 
Waterloo Barracks vanished. Miss Nancy 
saw only the Tower Green, whereon the 
queen has caused turf to be sown in a mer- 
ciful time, in the noonday of our civilization, 
which forbids such flow of human blood as 
followed the stroke of that executioner’s 
axe, which was seldom idle for lack of food 
so many, many hundred years. A patch of 
green where turf can not spread oblivion, 
and shadowy victims flocking through the 
river gate from Whitehall, extending rank 
behind rank, culled from the great fields of 
life, and cast clown here to endure linger- 
ing torments of hope and fear, the music of 
the banquet-hall changed for the clang of 
a death - knell, as a monarch’s smile became 
a frown — a procession of ghosts stretching 
back to dim centuries, the sport of kings. 

“ On through that gate misnamed, through which, be- 
fore, 

"Went Sidney, Eussel, Raleigh, Craumer, More.” 

How real, how familiar, the terrible story ! 
Here beautiful Anne Boleyn commended her 
soul to Christ before laying her fair head on 
the block, in the year 1536 ; Lady Jane Grey, 

nine days queen,” stood at the narrow case- 
ment yonder, now dull and lifeless, and be- 
held the corpse of her young husband borne 
past below. The plain woman from over the 
sea could almost feel what the shriek of 
recognition must have been. Against these 
prison bars. Lady Arabella Stuart fluttered, 
went mad, and died. In the north-west 
corner of the inner ward stood the church 
of St. Peter-ad- Vincula, disfigured by resto- 
ration, yet pronounced by Macaulay one of 
the saddest spots on earth, where lie Cath- 
erine Howard, Anne Boleyn, Lord Rochford, 
Lord Seymour of Sudley under warrant of 
his own brother, the Protector Somerset, 
and impetuous Essex. 

Nancy thrilled with sympathy at sight of 
the Towers, each a separate history, a cita- 
del, a heart of pain and suffering, yet link- 
ed together by bastions, bridges, moat, and 
portcullis. Behold the Bell -tower, where 
Princess Elizabeth bided her time, as pris- 
oner of Sister Mary, firmly adhering to the 
Reformed faith, and issuing forth on her 


coronation- day, prepared to use the prison 
to fully as good purpose as her predecessors, 
after those first golden years of peace ; the 
Beauchamp Tower, scrawled with names of 
fading captives ; the Devereux Tower, with 
walls eleven feet in thickness, where Robert 
Devereux, Earl of Essex, was confined by ca- 
pricious Elizabeth, who was unable to sleep 
after his execution ; the Bowyer Tower, 
where George, Duke of Clarence, perished 
in the butt of malmsey ; and the Bloody 
Tower, most fearful of all, where the bones 
of the royal children were discovered after 
two hundred years. 

In her own mind Miss Nancy likened this 
reality to the tears of centuries taking form', 
and petrifying into saddest form of stone, 
Niobe fashion. 

The voice of Mrs. Sharpe disturbed her 
meditations : 

^‘This is a charming spot in which to 
learn Christian charity,” observed that lady, 
staring hard at Miss Nancy. I would not 
drink wine for lunch again, if I were you ; 
it makes your face red, and you are unused 
to it.” 

Miss Nancy murmured a faint denial ; 
perhaps it was better, even emanating from 
a temperance land, to bear the odium of a 
glass of wine rather than confess that the 
woes of certain fair queens, as recited by 
the magician, had moved her to tears. The 
! Anglo-Saxon race is mortally ashamed of 
tears. As for Mrs. Sharpe, she was glad to 
! see the old place ; but there were drawbacks 
to her felicity. Her boot pinched her foot ; 
she feared she had taken too thin a shawl 
for the weather ; and, blessed with keen ol- 
I factory nerves, she found the company not 
all that could be desired. Thus they reach- 
ed the White Tower, standing in the full 
light, coated with lime, in repair, yet the 
most ancient structure of all in this won- 
derful chain, and flanked by the four tur- 
rets which crown the citadel. 

How vividly Miss Nancy recalled her com- 
panion’s next remark later on that eventful 
day! 

^^We are the only well-dressed people in 
this common -looking crowd. Always the 
way. If we decide to go anywhere, all crea- 
tion rushes there on the self-same day ; and 
as for the regalia, I am sure the Koh-i-noor 
might as well be putty for any beauty I can 
discover when I am held back by at least 
two yards of steel bars, as if I were a thief 
well known to the London police.” 

^^It is a privilege to be admitted at all,” 
retorted Miss Nancy, with the dazzle of 
priceless jewels still before her eyes. 

They toiled up into the great armory, ceil- 
ing emblazoned with flowers formed of glit- 
tering weapons, avenues of trophies, Scotch 
targets, broadswords, tilting lances, and hal- 
berds. Mrs. Sharpe panted and protested. 

More stairs ? I can not go another step.” 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


53 


The party trooped on ; Miss Nancy hesi- 
tated, and glanced hack at Mrs. Sharpe. 

We can not stay here. We shall lose our 
way,” she urged. 

Just then a little old man popped up, like 
a manikin, and approached the tourists, bow- 
ing and rubbing his hands. There was about 
him that fragrance of gin peculiar to lower 
London, and his puckered face wore a whee- 
dling smile. 

Yes, ladies — a chair ? here’s one, ladies,” 
said the little old man, ministering to the 
necessities of the moment as if by magic. 

I will wait here until you return,” said 
Mrs. Sharpe, sinking down on the chair with 
a sigh of satisfaction. 

^^But we may not return,” demurred her 
perplexed companion. 

Oh yes, ladies ; in fifteen minutes. The 
party is sure to come back this way,” inter- 
posed the little old man, blinking with cun- 
ning, red-rimmed eyes. 

Then Miss Nancy sped up the stone steps, 
which were dark and gloomy, leaving Mrs. 
Sharpe seated, with the little old man hov- 
ering near, and rubbing his hands with 
great apparent satisfaction at the arrange- 
ment. 

Miss Nancy had never seen a warrior, the 
knight of chivalry and romance, in her life. 
A soldier, a hero ? Yes. Her cousin Mar- 
tha’s boy, aged eighteen, shot through the 
heart at Gettysburg, and brought home with 
a smile on his lips. Now she beheld King 
Hal, as a royal wooer, in his wedding armor, 
engraved with badges of himself and Cath- 
erine of Aragon, rose and pomegranate, Fer- 
dinand’s sheaf of arrows, England’s port- 
cullis, fleur-de-lis, and red dragon on the 
fans of the genouilleres. 

Oh, you wretch !” said Miss Nancy, with 
intense animosity, which she had transmit- 
ted, in her capacity of school-marm, to the 
young fry of Briarbush. 

There rode the tyrant in the armor of his 
wedding-day, rose and pomegranate grace- 
fully united, and at the extremity of a long 
apartment sat Elizabeth, in faded robes of 
state, piously intent on returning thanks at 
St. Paul’s Cathedral for deliverance from the 
Spanish Armada. Is it mere chance that her 
niche, as presiding genius of the spot, is 
reached only through halls where Robert 
Dudley, Earl of Leicester, armed cap-a-pie, 
his device of bear and ragged staff embla- 
zoned on his tilting armor, stands prepared 
to win fresh laurels at the tournament be- 
fore the eyes of his admiring sovereign ? Is 
there trace of shadow on the simpering face 
of the Virgin Queen that Earl Essex rides 
gallantly yonder in flashing gilt and steel 
helmet and breastplate, spurring ardently, 
impulsively, to his dreadful end ? Are we to 
associate the splendor, the clemency of her 
reign, with any of these instruments of tort- 
ure grouped before her — bilbo, thumbkin, 


or scavenger’s daughter — and the tiny cell, 
dark, narrow, terrible, where Sir Walter is 
reputed to have slept for twelve years before 
his death by order of James ? Ride on, Queen 
Bess, in faded robes of state to prayers of 
thanksgiving that Spain’s mighty armament 
was shattered by friendly ocean. 

The glitter of weapons, where the light 
smote sparks of dazzling scintillations from 
burnished surfaces, iron, brass, and gold, al- 
most bewildered Miss Nancy. She paused 
to touch the stone wall of Sir Walter’s cell 
pityingly, tenderly, now that the critical 
eye of Mrs. Sharpe was no longer fixed on 
her. Out of the darkness rose the brilliant 
form of the cavalier, crowned by youth, 
spreading his cloak for the feet of the haugh- 
ty queen; then the enthusiastic explorer, 
gazing toward sunset, lured by fabled treas- 
ures, a prince among men, who attracted all 
eyes as he paced within these prison walls ; 
then the grave philosopher, tracing his own 
history of the world, and demanding of nat- 
ure her secrets in science, even as he had al- 
ways demanded generous homage of his fel- 
low-creatures. 

Suddenly a chill crept over Miss Nancy. 
What had happened ? The warden and ma- 
gician, followed by the gaping crowd, had 
turned another way. Mrs. Sharpe would be 
left behind. Miss Nancy realized, all too 
late, that she should have questioned the 
magician before, only she disliked to inter- 
rupt his story. Must her sins be wholly con- 
fessed? The gorgeous throng of knights 
and warriors had banished from her mind 
Mr. Vidal’s mother-in-law. Why had the 
little old man told such a fib ? 

A youth, attired in gray tweed, had shown 
a troublesome interest in whatever Miss Nan- 
cy found interesting for some time past, and 
just when she would have claimed informa- 
tion of him as to the route chosen by the 
party, he had departed with the rest. She 
went to the second stone stairway, which 
wound up and up into obscurity, and at- 
tempted to call : the warden’s voice sounded 
like the murmur of a sea-shell, and drowned 
all inquiries effectually. It was strange to 
be alone among so many people. She must 
return for Mrs. Sharpe, and either lead her 
out by the way they had entered, or bring 
her back in the hope of overtaking the par- 
ty. In her ingratitude. Miss Nancy wished 
that she had come alone. Groping down 
the giddy steps, solitude began to make her 
nervous ; it was like the downward impulse 
of dreams when the dreamer is ever about 
to fall from heights to unseen depths. Her 
heart beat faster as she fancied that she saw 
faces, the hideous features of the assassins 
for which the place had once been famous, 
lurking in corners where the darkness gath- 
ered in denser blackness. She laughed un- 
easily, then shivered when she thought of 
Raleigh’s cell. 


54 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


She was unprepared for the shock await- 
ing her below. 

Mrs. Sharpe, indeed, occupied the chair in 
tbe armory, but her own cashmere scarf was 
tied across her mouth, and her hands were 
knotted together firmly in her lap, with her 
own pocket-handkerchief. She was awful- 
ly still. 

At this appalling spectacle Miss Nancy’s 
limbs failed her. Afterward a misty recol- 
lection came back to her of sitting down on 
the lowest step of the stairway : a cold dew 
started on her forehead. Good Heavens ! 
bad Mr. Vidal’s mother-in-law been stran- 
gled or murdered ? What had become of the 
little old man ? Saving herself from faint- 
ing with an effort. Miss Nancy finally gasped, 

^‘Mrs. Sharpe — ma’am — are you much 
hurt ?” 

The bound hands moved; there was a 
gurgle behind the scarf, which betokened, 
to Miss Nancy’s inexpressible relief, that life 
was not extinct. The armory was spinning 
around before the horrified spectator’s eyes. 
Still she managed to release the poor head, 
when the captive drew a long breath, and 
exclaimed ; 

This is all your fault ! You brought me 
here to be robbed and murdered. He dared 
me to move and scream — the wretch ! Hush ! 
Let us run for our lives, and I will tell you 
all afterward.” 

Out in the court the sun was still shin- 
ing, the Scotch Fusileers forming to hum of 
bagpipe, the magician just emerging from 
another building. 

Mrs. Sharpe, left alone, and unsuspicious 
of harm, had drawn forth her fan and pre- 
pared to enjoy her rest, when the little old 
man had approached her chair behind, and 
demanded a sixpence in a menacing tone, 
his fingers extended like claws. Mrs. Sharpe 
had acceded to this reasonable demand, and 
was fumbling for her purse, when her own 
scarf was slipped over her mouth, stifling 
possible cries, the little old man assumed 
the gigantic proportions of a highwayman in 
a trice, her pocket was rifled, her watch and 
chain wrenched off, while frightful threats 
were breathed in her ear if she attempted to 
resist. 

Thus Miss Nancy found her, and was 
blamed for the catastrophe in her first breath 
of freedom. Nor was this all. Painful blush- 
es were called to Miss Nancy’s cheek by the 
conspicuous conduct of her companion when 
she found herself outside, and with an audi- 
ence. She had been robbed, and barely es- 
caped murder in the armory. That hand- 
some magician, the warden, possibly piqued 
by Mrs. Sharpe’s lack of interest in his reci- 
tations, was skeptical; incredulity was plain- 
ly stamped on every face ; the young man in 
gray tweed was no longer visible ; and Miss 
Nancy thought doubts were entertained, 
either as regarded the sanity of Mr. Vidal’s 


mother-in-law or her possible sobriety, as, 
with violent gesture, she denounced the Tow- 
er and every body present. The little old 
man had evidently been seen by none, and 
was believed to be the myth of hysterical 
feminine brains. Would Mrs. Sharpe make 
a charge, to recover her watch ? No, she 
would not. She was only a poor foreign- 
er, and could not expect to receive justice. 
With this parting shot at the British Gov- 
ernment in general, and still panting like a 
war-horse, Mrs. Sharpe allowed herself to be 
conducted to a four-wheeled cab. 

Poor Miss Nancy, much flurried by these 
disasters, could still glance back at the tiny 
patch of green made to bloom by the good 
Queen Victoria, and then at the river flow- 
ing beyond that terrible gate where the 
archbishop’s ghost once hovered before the 
vision of affrighted London, forbidding the 
growth of wharf and wall. Forgotten the 
tilts and tournaments ; the coronation days ; 
Stephen’s court, held in 1140 ; the residence 
of Henry HI. and Edward I. here; the long 
three hundred years when all kings of En- 
gland issued forth from this spot to be crown- 
ed ; and only this low, dark tunnel is seen, 
with the flight of steps, the small postern, 
the draw-bridge, where nobles, women, wits, 
and j)hilosophers passed to their doom. 

Still satirical, the magician with his sil- 
very beard, bright eyes, and quaint garb ob- 
served. 

You have no such old buildings in Amer- 
ica.” 

No, thank God,” said Miss Nancy, solemn- 
ly, and entirely without a sense of humor in 
the remembrance of Artemus Ward. 

Then she came forth into the streets once 
more, and the drowsy music of the bagpipes 
lessened, to her startled fancy, until merged 
in the wail of human voices coming fitfully 
on the blast. 

Poor Anne Boleyn ! I am glad that Eliz- 
abeth, her daughter, did reign, after all. It 
was a rude age, and religion required a 
stanch bulwark,” said Miss Nancy, when they 
were seated in the cab. 

^^You are so romantic, my dear,” replied 
Mrs. Sharpe. How these rattling windows 
set one’s teeth on edge ! And this cab has a 
most peculiar, musty odor. Oh, my poor 
nose, how are you insulted at every turn !” 

I do not observe any thing amiss,” said 
Miss Nancy, abstractedly. She was grow- 
ing pale as her fingers sought the depths of 
her pocket. 

Mrs. Sharpe was very proud of her nose; 
not so much as a gift of nature in ornament, 
as an indication of high birth. She fixed a 
dreadful look on her companion, and said, 
with melodramatic impressiveness, 

^‘The smell is small -pox, or a corpse. 
They carry dead people in these cabs some- 
times, and no one can fathom the crime of a 
great city.” 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


55 


How horrible !” shuddered Miss Nancy, 
aud turned her pocket inside out, with a 
gesture of despair. Her purse was gone. 

Mrs. Sharpe chuckled, for the first time 
that day, with the glee of a raven. 

How did it happen V’ she cried, triumph- 
antly. I should have imagined that you 
might have kept your pocket safe.” 

“ There was a young man in gray tweed,” 
faltered Miss Nancy, and was forced to bor- 
row a shilling of the hotel porter. 

Mrs. Sharpe’s sitting-room presented a 
charming picture : a young man and girl 
stood on the hearth-rug in the attitude of 
the Huguenot Lovers. Mr. Vidal and his 
bride had returned from Paris. The moth- 
er-in-law sunk down on the sofa, and began 
to cry. 

Miss Nancy went to remove her bonnet, 
and found a bit of pasteboard, meaning so 
much or so little, on her table. Dr. Pier- 
man had called on her, previous to his de- 
parture for the Continent. It was better to 
have avoided a painful interview, she rea- 
soned soberly ; and yet she wished that she 
could have seen him, if only for a moment. 
How petty the small misunderstandings and 
disagreements of life actually were. Staj^ ; 
there was a line in pencil on the back of the 
card : 

Mr. Howard Denby has been also stop- 
ping at Mulcher’s Hotel. He left to-day for 
Brighton.” 

Miss Nancy rushed wildly t§ the desk, 
and requested to see the hotel register. In 
a corner of the next page to her own address 
w'as the name H. Denby, United States.” 
He had been sheltered by the same roof all 
this time. The number of his room brought 
him near her own chamber — 49. Why, it 
was the opposite door on the landing, and 
Howard Denby was the owner of the boots ! 
Unpardonable stupidity ! The mystery con- 
cerning dead Uncle Simon was within reach 
ofherveryhand, and she had failed to graspit. 

Evidently Mrs. Sharpe told her own story 
to her young people, for when Miss Nancy 
appeared at dinner, according to invitation, 
she was treated with a certain indefinable 
and pitying forbearance. The bride even 
kissed her re-assuringly. 

‘‘You two shall not be left alone again in 
a foreign land,” she said, sweetly. 

Outside, the clouds lowered once more, 
the yellow rain descended heavily, monoto- 
nously ; and opposite was the sombre dwell- 
ing which the last Lord Bobbin had quit 
for the grave. 


CHAPTER X. 

BRIGHTON BY THE SEA. 

Merry, laughter- loving Brighton, first 
sea-side resort in the world. Hither came 
Miss Nancy in search of Howard Denby, 


owner of the Russia- leather pocket-book 
which had already occasioned her so much 
I)erplexity. 

“After Mulcher’s Hotel, let me seek lodg- 
ings,” she said. 

Mulcher’s bill had been fearfully and won- 
derfully compounded of pounds, shillings, 
and pence. It consisted of a long and nar- 
row strip of blue paper, and the school- 
marm had accepted it with something more 
than the interest with which she would 
have “ worked out ” a problem on the black- 
board for the benefit of her pupils in Briar- 
bush Academy, the result aud answer be- 
ing, in this case, she must pay. Iced water 
aud ice-cream forsooth. Miss Nancy ! One 
shilling and sixpence for each sip of your 
favorite beverage, my dear lady, and four 
shillings an ice, with the addition of three 
stale biscuits. Then the bill. Just when 
she had decided, with some dismay, that she 
read the sum total at the bottom of the 
page, the sprightly brunette at the desk 
had called her attention to the top of an- 
other column, and the»sum total, increasing 
in progress after the manner of a snow-ball, 
pursued down this second alarming row of 
figures, was finally arrested in the middle 
of the next line. 

“ Service, candles, hire of room,” murmur- 
ed Miss Nancy, and snapped her purse reso- 
lutely in the face of the cynical waiter, who 
was hovering hopefully near. 

How are we to balance Mulcher’s Hotel, 
dingy, dismal, and extortionate, against fixed 
prices in certain American hotels which are 
lamented over as fabulous by the British 
traveling public ? 

Accordingly, at Brighton, avoiding the 
spacious Grande, and the stately Bedford, 
which resembles so much a member of the 
House of Commons in massive, solemn as- 
pect of respectability. Miss Nancy became a 
lodger. Behold her tasting the first delights 
of a system worthy of transplantation to 
boarding America, in a perfected economy 
of living. Her landlady was affable, and 
speedily enlisted her sympathy as a gentle- 
woman reduced by misfortune. A rosy lit- 
tle maid served her, with unobtrusive and 
quiet demeanor. Persuasive venders thrust 
every imaginable delicacy in her window — 
turbots aud soles, not fresh from the sea, but 
from the London market instead, and Jfruit 
in tempting variety. The green-grocer and 
Italian warehouse-man spread wily nets for 
Miss Nancy, baited with such exquisite 
cleanliness as puts to the blush the most en- 
ergetic attempts at neatness in American 
shop-keepers. Rolls of fresh golden butter; 
bacon, delicately veined pink - and - white, 
firm as marble; molds of lard, disdaining 
relationship with such degenerate fat as we 
know; most luscious jams, piquant sauces 
of world-renowned Crosse & Blackwell; 
cheese of Cheddar, in portions nicely adjust- 


56 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


ed to the purse of the purchaser; French 
crystallized fruits, in shilling boxes, in place 
of our dollar bonbons. Gazing at these 
shops from a purely artistic point of view, 
the vision of Mrs. Bridget Maloney rose be- 
fore Miss Nancy, provoking an involuntary 
smile. Mrs. Maloney, hale, buxom, cheerful, 
with six little Maloneys at her heels, and 
Patrick, her mau,” dozing off last night’s 
drunken stupor of the dram-shop, had long 
reigned chief washer-woman of Briarbush. 
A drop of tea and a bit of bread were nev- 
er refused by Mrs. Maloney, as her rosy 
face loomed through the steam of the wash- 
tub. 

Butter, is it ?” she would inquire. No, 
thin, thank ye kindly, mum ; shure, I never 
tasted that but oncet in Ameriky, and that’ll 
do the likes of me, anyhow.” This sarcasm 
was highly appreciated by all Briarbush, 
save Mr. Abijah Hoppin, who kept the vil- 
lage store. 

Our traveler could scarcely resist the sub- 
tle flattery of the wine -merchant, or the 
showers of letters brought by the postman, 
calling her attention by name, with deferen- 
tial civility to all branches of industry on 
earth, from mantua-makers and Indian out- 
fitters to chiropodists. 

Where was Howard Denby ? In vain she 
read lists of hotel arrivals, and a doubt be- 
gan to assail her if he had not come and 
gone on the briefest holiday. She wrote to 
Rockwell Cocks, who was still in London, 
to inform her of Mr. Denby’s movements. 

I will find him if he is in England, and 
learn the truth about Uncle Simon. Poor 
fellow! he may have already missed his 
memoranda, too,” she resolved. 

Never was apparently easy and matter-of- 
fact pursuit more baffling. A degree of fa- 
talism succeeded her first energetic self-con- 
fidence. She would drift toward him inevi- 
tably on this current of sparkling life, soon- 
er or later. 

She looked for him in the mornings when 
the day opened fresh and clear, the parted 
clouds piling soft masses of white vapor in 
the south. The old bath - woman, in blue 
flannel, with picturesque red kerchief cross- 
ed over her breast, and black cap on her 
head, greeted Miss Nancy. She swung a 
toy wooden shovel in her hand ; there was 
a smile of wheedling propitiation on her 
weather - bronzed, puckered old face, with 
bulbous nose battered on the tip, as if from 
frequent contact with the shingle. 

’Ave a barth this fine morning, lady ? 
Yes, my dear, ninepence, only ninepence, and 
them white wagons. Thank’ee, lady.” 

A sweet, piercing call, the quaint note of 
generations of venders, proceeded from the 
mouth of a freckled, bare-footed little boy, 
who carried bundles of blooming lavender, 
most fragrant of wholesome herbs, suggest- 
ive of linen-presses and thrifty housewives; 


marking also the waning days of the long 
twilight. 

^^Oh, buy my sweet, blooming la-a-ven- 
der.” So the fresh, young voice floated on 
from the wide expanse of esplanade up many 
a steep and narrow street. 

Next came the shrill pipe of Punch, a boy 
thumping a drum, hopeful of spectators, and 
the little dog Toby, with the grave aspect 
of a professional, trotting soberly along be- 
side the miniature theatre. Business prov- 
ing dull. Punch passed on. 

Goats of a hackney-coach order eat their 
dinners from a bag, with a business-like man- 
ner, while harnessed to baby barouches, 
awaiting customers ; goats so curbed and 
broken by civilization that they seem to 
have lost their power of butting,” prime- 
val right and inheritance of the race. Don- 
keys belonging to the caste of watering- 
place appointments blinked at Miss Nancy 
out of funny little eyes, without a hope of 
rising in the world. The Bath chair, subject 
of many a caricature, dragged portly dowa- 
gers and invalids, swathed like mummies, 
over the strand. How could this admirable 
mode of placid locomotion be introduced 
into America? Where is the Hibernian who 
would tamely spend his day wheeling the 
Bath chair instead of fighting his way val- 
iantly upward in the scale of being by means 
of politics and trades-unions ? Where is the 
American invalid who would thus submit to’ 
trundling along, unless a locomotive, or a 
system of balloons, were attached to accel- 
erate speed ? 

Howard Denby was not to be found in 
that damp paradise, the Aquarium, where 
Miss Nancy followed him, and mimic cas- 
cades dripped above her head amidst chilly 
bowers of rock-work. In crystal depths of 
artificial homes dwelt strangers from the 

dim water - world,” transported against 
their will, slaves to science and food for idle 
amusement. Poor little sea-horses twined 
in graceful evolutions about aquatic plants; 
liliputian turtles toiled up rocks leading no- 
where ; horse - shoes,” with the aspect of 
w'earing somebody else’s hat for a shell, too 
large for them, tumbled about clumsily; el- 
derly lobsters lurked in holes, much badger- 
ed by the publicity of life ; brisk, active lit- 
tle crabs, Frenchmen among the Crustacea, 
and jaunty cray-fish, spoiled by flattery, 
standing on the tips of their claws, in af- 
fected attitudes, before the glass sides of 
tanks; while my lord sturgeon swam in 
calm majesty among groves of sea-weed. 

Once Miss Nancy fancied she had over- 
taken Howard Denby. A young man stood 
gazing intently at the octopus. Could it 
be he? Miss Nancy paused. No; he was a 
stranger, evidently rehearsing some of the 
horrors of Victor Hugo’s “Toilers of the 
Sea.” The cuttle-fish, a lump of jelly ad- 
hering to the side, began to writhe in dull 


MISS NANCY’S PILGKIMAGE. 


57 


anger at tlie teasing, steady gaze of the 
young man ; long tentacles unfolded from 
the central disk of the body, waved, groped 
abroad for prey, and the large, dim eyes 
glared back defiance. Miss Nancy turned 
away, sickened and giddy. The rock-work 
dripped above her head; the cold atmos- 
phere was impregnated with faint sea-odors ; 
flashing forms darted through the water, like 
shuttles of silver, coming and going, with 
wearying repetition. She was glad to escape 
from it all. 

Howard Denby was not in the Royal Pa- 
vilion of George IV., that airy bubble of a 
fantastic builder, which rises in many a dome 
and porch amidst lawn and flower parterres. 
Shall it be told that Miss Nancy utterly for- 
got him in this temple of pleasure, colored 
with gorgeous Eastern hues — red, green, and 
gold — dragons poising crystal pendants, and 
serpents of bronze coiling in burnished folds 
to support rich cornices ? The lanterns still 
swung from gilded chains, and Chinese gods 
gazed down from stained windows on tre- 
foil, bamboo columns, and strings of bells — 
all belonging to a vanished dream of extrav- 
agance, to a monarch of memory more fragile 
than his ivory couches, satin-draped statues, 
and porcelain pagodas. 

Miss Nancy searched for Howard Denby 
at noonday, where the Esplanade and King’s 
Road extended for miles in a white line, the 
sea on one side, blue, sparkling, and striped 
with purple shadows by passing clouds, 
spanned by the two piers wearing a perpet- 
ual holiday aspect of flags ; on the other, 
rows of fine houses, cream -tinted, like the 
perspective of a drop-curtain, broken by 
squares, terraces, and crescents. Farther on 
succeeded a wavy outline of downs, with here 
and there a bleak farm-house surrounded by 
thatched outbuildings ; and beyond the road, 
a rampart of nodding grasses, flecked with 
wild flowers, forming a margin for a stretch 
of dazzling waters far as eye could reach, 
with chalk cliffs sharply outlined in ad- 
vance. 

Again Miss Nancy forgot her mission in 
delighted contemplation of the scene before 
her. Rottiugdean nestled in the hollow, out 
of reach of searching winds. Most quaint 
of little hamlets, narrow lanes, marked by 
high stone walls, drowsy and quiet, sweet 
with flowers, the verdure of hedges, the 
mantles of ivy and holly clinging about 
gray stones ! A main thoroughfare of shops 
and dwellings, with The Plow Tavern on 
one corner, was framed by the sea at one 
end like an azure gate. The plaee was a se- 
ries of pictures to Miss Nancy, like the En- 
glish water -colors which occasionally find 
their way to America. A cottage, with roof 
of mellow russet tints, and tufts of green 
moss springing above walls stained by 
many storms, afforded her a glimpse of an 
interior, where an old woman stooped over 


a chest of drawers, the light tinging her 
white cap and the brass knobs of the an- 
tique piece of furniture. A gray donkey 
stood before a blacksmith’s forge, the rud- 
dy glow from the fire streaming across his 
flanks. A child’s golden head appeared at 
a small window, amidst the scarlet bloom of 
geraniums. 

‘^This all - pervading love of flowers in 
the English is a most beautifnl characteris- 
tic,” thought Miss Nancy. Pots hang on 
narrow ledges between dreary houses, rest 
on garret window-sills, stand in areas — any- 
where, so that they may put forth glossy 
leaves and rich blossoms.” 

Peaceful beauty of English country church, 
surrounded by graves, ivy climbing to the 
roof, and a white rose swaying over the en- 
trance-door. Here the church was very old, 
and showed, despite restoration, unmistaka- 
able age in curious heads above the doors, 
in crumbling wood-work, in a massive tower, 
with narrow apertures of windows in walls 
of great strength, and a clock in the turret, 
surmounted by a rusty weather-vane. The 
clock glittered in the sun ; below was carved 
the warning, Watch, for ye know not the 
hour.” Years had rolled around scarcely un- 
heeded ; for here were educated by the vicar. 
Dr. Hooker, the Duke of Wellington, Arch- 
bishop Manning, and Lord Lytton. Years 
had rolled around, while the clock -hand 
pointed to the hour the French landed in 
1377, carrying away as prisoners the abbot 
and two monks, beneath the very shadow 
of this church tower, before repulsed by a 
valiant little Lewes army. 

Now Miss Nancy’s charioteer had taken 
her under his especial protection as a tour- 
ist, with a view to possible additional re- 
muneration. He was a burly man, with 
bushy beard, nose of copper hue, and eer- 
tain nautical characteristics in dress. Point- 
ing to a mansion with his whip, he claimed 
her horrified attention by a blood-curdling 
description of the owner. There had dwelt 
a gentlewoman who tortured eats, and was, 
in consequence of extending the amusement 
to several hundreds of the feline species, 
serving out a sentence at hard labor. 

Cats !” exclaimed Miss Nancy. I have 
heard of cat legacies, and cat hospitals 
founded by peculiar ladies.” 

Starved ’em, mum; put ’em in cup- 
boards, hung ’em like rabbits. You must 
’ave ’eard of her in h’ America,” urged the 
cabman; but Miss Nancy’s memory failed 
her, despite these promptings, in the list of 
lunacy and crime, and Brighton’s local pride 
was hurt. 

A line of glittering cliffs, the expanding 
sea visible once more, the rise of downs, and 
the church-tower had vanished beyond the 
hill, where an aneient windmill stood out 
against the sky above the sheltered hamlet. 

Noonday again came, without sunshine. 


58 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


the sea of pallid silver merging to a gray 
horizon-line. Fog may become thin, as if 
refined by the unseen sun to a transparent 
veil of mist, curling in plumes of fleecy va- 
por along the road, clinging in gossamer 
shreds to the blossoming hedges, beautifying 
by this mystery all that might prove un- 
sightly in a little fishing village. Miss Nan- 
cy thus beheld Shoreham. Like fragment- 
ary glimpses of dreams, black masts and 
ropes stood out, as if against a spun-glass 
background, with glimpses of river and sea 
beyond, unreal as a mirage ; a light - house 
loomed forth from soft obscurity; on the 
brink of lapsing waves an old church was 
discernible, whence proceeded the chanting 
of a choir, the voice of the edifice, sweet and 
low. Oh for pencil and color-box! Qh for 
the power to arrest these fleeting lights and 
shades, treasures to feed the eye as well as 
the memory! All Miss Nancy’s nature ut- 
tered the very pain of protest at her inabil- 
ity to reproduce that which her soul vividly 
recognized. If she could but trace these ga- 
bles, chimneys, and roofs, rich red, mellow 
ochre, deep brown, or the delicate tiny flow- 
ers, pale blue and pink, starring the moss 
patches on the sloping eaves, fairy bells vi- 
brating to every tremulous breeze. The 
road wound on through the fog. Here a 
group of cloister arches, bricks time-black- 
ened to deepest shadows, was sheltered by 
venerable trees that spread domes of emer- 
ald-green foliage above. There ^‘The Mari- 
ner’s Arms” invited custom, with swinging 
sign-board, ruddy red face, twinkling with 
many small windows, and hostler lounging 
before the door, chewing the straw of lei- 
sure. 

I shall never find Howard Denby here,” 
said Miss Nancy, with a half-guilty sense 
that her own enjoyment was purchased at 
the expense of lost time. 

The rapid trot of hoofs smote on her ear, 
then a horse and rider appeared on the now 
darkening road. 

A phantom horseman,” laughed our trav- 
eler ; and just then the rider turned his head. 
Howard Denby glanced at her carriage and 
vanished, like the dissolving views of ship- 
yards, cottages, and trees now folded in the 
fog -mantled distance. She had seen and 
lost him again. Miss Nancy could have cried 
with vexation. Before she could open her 
lips he had disappeared. 

Twilight rested on the face of the waters ; 
a boat with white sail still spread, and a 
star of light in the bow, rose and fell on gen- 
tle surges, that seemed the pulsing hopes of 
a great, central heart. 

In the night a storm came. The fierce 
south-west wind changed the tranquil blue 
sea to broken masses of green billows, and 
swept over the downs as if burdened with 
the death-cries of the drowned of centuries. 
Miss Nancy, peering from her window at 


dawn, fancied a phantom fleet, the ghost of 
shipwrecks tossing again among elements 
which proved their doom. What a fleet, 
even from the Spanish Armada to the Schil- 
ler ! She closed her ears with both hands, 
to exclude the wailing wind, which brought 
back the rocking of the Ads on the sands, 
the woman clinging to her knees, the small 
gray form of the millionaire drifting past 
below. 

Spare mo that ordeal again, oh God!” 
prayed Miss Nancy, burying her head in the 
pillow to exclude sight and sound. 

The wind meant loneliness, isolation, so- 
lemnity akin to melancholy, as if the earth 
had hidden its face, and only the presence 
of the Infinite pervaded the storm. 

Lewes Castle lay basking in afternoon 
sunshine. A lady passed beneath the Nor- 
man arch, the inner Saxon arch, and climbed 
the moss-grown steps leading to the battle- 
ments and towers above. The lady was Miss 
Nancy, and the critical eye of Mrs. Sharpe 
not being fixed upon her, emotion had free 
scope at beholding this relic of a thousand 
years with the July sky above it, and a 
wealth of green foliage billowing up to the 
ancient walls, screening each little narrow 
window with a veil of ivy, and climbing the 
very parapets, where stone copings made of 
the embrasures separate pictures of the land- 
scape, each more lovely than the last. The 
path from the barbican up to the citadel was 
steep, and fortified at every curve, so that an 
enemy’s advance might be disputed, inch by 
inch, in the wary old days of Conqueror 
William, when a man’s house was indeed his 
castle. 

The keep was half in golden sunshine, and 
half in deepest shadow of massive, stately 
wall — the invincible courage of the past, 
rough and inflexible, supporting the living 
tendrils of the present in blooming vines. 
A lime-tree grew in the middle of the space, 
laden with sweet blossoms, and the hum of 
bees sounded drowsily on the midsummer 
air. 

Miss Nancy, ascending the zigzag path, 
often paused to look back. Below was the 
red-roofed town, famous for expelling the 
invader long ago, now holding assizes, with 
my lord’s footman standing before the town- 
hall, in fawn-colored liveries and green satin 
knee-breeches ; while a young laborer, hand- 
cuffed, stupid, and shy, in the first step of 
crime, was led away by a burly policeman. 
Beyond was a rim of chalk cliffs, the port of 
New Haven, with a thread of smoke rising 
from the funnel of an outgoing steamer ; the 
sweep of downs, and windmills in silhouette 
against the horizon, like grotesque insects. 
The atmosphere was misty with sudden 
heat ; fields of ripened golden grain were all 
aflame with scarlet poppies, globes of fire 
among the stems; and flocks of starlings 
hovered over the sheep, a cloud of quiver- 


MISS NANCrS 

ing silver. Never was more lovely prospect 
seen ! The soft outline of clowns melted to 
opal clouds ; the grain waved, a sea of gold, 
variegated with the poppies, as if Flora had 
sown them broadcast; trees met in dusky 
arches over the white road; and far away 
Brighton rested beside the rose-tinted waves, 
the rough winds calmed to caressing zephyrs. 

Down in the richest, most sheltered mead- 
ow were ruins of a priory, dismantled halls 
roofed only by the heavens, fragments of 
chapel, and a skeleton stairway winding up 
within a skeleton tower. Pretty South-Down 
sheep fed on close turf, small heads with 
soft curves of woolly necks and backs, and 
dainty mouths nibbling eagerly. Mutton- 
hood does not elsewhere possess the beauty 
here found grouped beneath trees and hedges. 

Gone to their rest are the Cluny monks, 
bereft of even shadow of authority by icon- 
oclastic Oliver Cromwell ; and the sheep 
feed contentedly among the ruins. Oh, the 
years, and the leaves of the great book of 
life turned, silently turning now ! 

The bell of the little gate tinkled, and a 
wrinkled old woman, with a cheery smile, 
admitted Miss Nancy to the castle keep for a 
sixpence fee. The lime-tree, powdered with 
blossoms, stood in the sun, and the bees hum- 
med about it their monotonous music. An 
old pensioner who dwelt up in this nest, aft- 
er knocking about the world, was polishing 
a telescope before passing it to a gentleman. 
A large cannon, moss-grown to the semblance 
of a log, lay in shadow ; a broken canoe, of 
rude design, was propped against a buttress ; 
two stone figures, mutilated and worn, lean- 
ed together, staring blankly from cavernous 
eyes, the work of primitive sculptors, long 
before that death-warrant of Charles I. in the 
chamber above was signed. 

Miss Nancy scarcely perceived these de- 
tails. She ignored the old pensioner’s civil 
greeting, the chirping remarks of the wrin- 
kled wife, as she ran forward, and grasped 
the gentleman’s arm. 

Have I found you at last ?” she cried, 
with a little gasp of surprise and excitement. 

He quickly lowered the telescope, and 
turned toward her. The next moment How- 
ard Denby was returning her greeting with 
a less degree of cordiality, certainly, than 
her own impulsive warmth, even with a 
shade of constraint in his demeanor. 

‘^You were searching for me. Miss 
HaAvse ?” he inquired, formally. 

I have done little else these two weeks,” 
explained Miss Nancy, rapidly. You w’^ere 
stopping also at Mulcher’s Hotel ?” 

“ Yes.” The young man reddened with 
embarrassment. Evidently he would not 
have sought Miss Nancy’s society. 

“How you must have missed it. But I 
shall claim a reward*, rest assured.” 

Thus speaking. Miss Nancy drew forth the 
pocket-book, which she carried with her. 


PILGRIMAGE. 59 

Howard Denby received it wonderingly, 
and turned it over in his hand. 

“This does not belong to me,” he said, 
with a puzzled look. 

“ Does not belong to you ? Oh, what have 
I lost by this delay ! I thought that I rec- 
ognized it as your own,” cried Miss Nancy, 
discouraged. 

“ My pocket-book is almost precisely like 
this one. Humph! ‘H. D.’ on the silver 
plate, too ! A curious coincidence, we must 
admit ; yet mine is safe in its place at this 
very moment.” The young man produced 
his book, and the two seemed identical in 
Russia -leather sides and silver clasps, only 
his own was worn a trifle shabby by the fric- 
tion of longer use. 

“ ^ H. D.’ stands for Howard Denby,” said 
Miss Nancy, unaccountably depressed by the 
disappointment. 

More was involved in the discovery 
than Howard Denby’s restored proprietor- 
ship. That mention of Uncle Simon’s name 
haunted and perplexed her, while she was 
farther than ever from discovery. 

“Yes,” he replied, smiling, and held up 
the plate of his book as well. “ There are 
not two Howard Denbys in the world, how- 
ever, let us hope,” he added, in a tone of bit- 
terness. 

“I have lost so much time in following 
you,” murmured Miss Nancy, after some fur- 
ther explanations had been made. 

“Advertise the book in England and 
America,” suggested Howard Denby. 

That evening the rosy little maid served 
a guest at Miss Nancy’s table. The repast 
was simple, the participants adhering to 
that astonishing preference for cold water 
as a beverage characteristic of the race, and 
varied only, in the guest’s case, by a glass 
of stout. Moreover, the meal lasted one 
hour, when the two drew their chairs to the 
window, ornamented with a stand of flow- 
ers, and Mr. Denby was permitted the solace 
of a cigar by his hostess. Miss Nancy was 
in a more cheerful mood than she had been 
for many a day. Perhaps to receive a guest 
at her own table brought back a glow of the 
hospitality which had characterized the old 
red homestead in the minister’s time. The 
young man’s shy and proud reticence may 
have been already thawing in the warmth 
of her ready sympathy. At all events, they 
were beginning to understand each other, 
seated there in the darkening room, with 
the clustering leaves of the plants forming 
a screen before the window-pane. A little 
park was visible beyond, where children still 
romped, like daisies scattered over the grass, 
and the crescent of a new moon hung above 
the sea in depths of clear blue sky. The 
park was ornamented with flower-beds, 
which made Miss Nancy quite frantic with 
envy, and inspired a desire to imitate the 
X)erfection of horticulture in Briarbush on a 


60 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


Lumble scale. How to picture grandmoth- 
er’s amazement, or the raptures of the doc- 
tor’s wife, proud of the verbenas and dahlias 
of her front yard, could they once behold 
these wheels of amber and crimson starring 
the turf, the curves and sweeping lines of 
blue and purple blossoms, as if butterflies 
hovered and alighted on still outspread 
wings ? 

Music spoke to them from the square, ris- 
ing and falling on the ear, the one intelligi- 
ble voice of the universe, a language utter- 
ed to the soul, and needing no translation. 
Meyerbeer, Rossini, Wagner, struck the key- 
note in a foreign land, and, with a rush of 
old associations, the young man and middle- 
aged woman were at home once more. 

Howard Denby was talking at last ! Miss 
Nancy heard about the McGuires, death in 
the cold city streets, failure and discourage- 
ment, all told in the querulous, unconscious- 
ly irritable tone of one who felt himself born 
with a grievance, the very sport of fate. 
There was a sharp line between the eye- 
brows of the fair, handsome face opposite, 
which she had not observed on shipboard, 
and the blue eyes had become restless and 
haggard in expression. 

^‘The misfortunes of youth may tinge 
our later years,” observed Miss Nancy, after 
a pause. “ You are most fortunately placed 
in the world.” 

Howard Denby tossed away his cigar im- 
patiently ; the sharp line between his brows 
deepened to a frown as he answered : 

^‘I may strive until I am gray and old, 
and just when I am about to grasp success 
another will step in before me. It is my 
luck!” 

^^If I were a man with a sound brain 
and two hands for work, I would ask noth- 
ing of luck,” retorted Miss Nancy, with spir- 
it. Look at the innumerable examples of 
self-help in men of all ranks and classes in 
our century, if no further back. I should 
choose my aim with a reasonable prospect 
of practical success, and then I should ad- 
here to it until all was achieved.” 

^^For life?” queried her visitor, moodily. 
^^What if precious months and years were 
required for trifles which might be finished 
in weeks ?” 

‘‘Patience,” advised Miss Nancy, a trifle 
startled by the weight of her own words. 
“ The best work takes years to accomplish ; 
sometimes more than one life.” 

How tame such advice sounded! How- 
ard Denby was not even listening. 

In the opposite houses the English busi- 
ness of dining was transpiring, heavy, elabo- 
rate, and slow, with glimmer of gas above 
closed shutter and the beauty of the even- 
ing wasting unheeded. The English esteem 
dining too much, and the Americans too lit- 
tle. Will a future generation combine ro- 
bust health and nervous energy in a well- 


balanced whole ? On the horizon a snowy 
cloud floated j stars came forth in liquid 
transparency, one by one ; the moon shed a 
wide track of silver on the sea, which mur- 
mured, as if with mj^riad inarticulate voices; 
and along the shore rose the fair and state- 
ly town, with rows of lamps forming a neck- 
lace of golden beads, and the piers reflecting 
tinted lamps in the waves below. Figures 
flitted across the bright expanse, as if before 
a curtain — now a horseman, now hurryiug 
groups, vividly distinct for a moment, then 
gone again. “It is like life,” thought Miss 
Nancy. “ We see a yard of ocean, bounded 
by a margin of houses across a square, and 
therefore we say, from our own stand-point, 
the waters which bound a universe are like 
our limited range of vision.” 

Suddenly she leaned forward, moved by 
an impulse beyond her own control, and laid 
her hand on that of her visitor. 

“ Tell me why you avoid your friends and 
the Piermans,” she said, gently. 

“Mrs. Cocks is kind,” he returned, eva- 
sively. “ I have no claim of acquaintance 
on the Piermans.” 

“ No claim,” she repeated, in a reproachful 
tone. “ You saved Blanche, and you saved 
me on that fearful night. Women do not 
forget such obligations as easily as you im- 
agine. Blanche requested me to give yon 
this.” 

Howard Denby received the tiny packet 
with a smile of incredulity and astonish- 
ment ; but he did not open it. 

“ God bless her !” he said, softly. 

Miss Nancy gazed out of the window 
steadily. 

“If you ever wish to acknowledge the 
gift, I will take the letter,” she said, after a 
pause. 

“ Look here. Miss Hawse,” exclaimed the 
young man, rising. “ I am not such a churl- 
ish brute as you imagine. Rockwell Cocks 
has crossed my life once, and he shall not 
again. I am determined about that — for I 
must then hate him.” The earnestness and 
concentrated passion of his tone were unmis- 
takable. 

Miss Nancy also arose, and, taking his 
head between her hands, kissed his forehead. 
“My poor boy, you must tell me your 
schemes without reservation. I will not 
wait another moment, sir.” 

“If you wish to hear,” he said, half 
doubtfully. “ You are a good woman. Miss 
Hawse.” 

“ Thank you, my dear. First let me ring 
for candles.” 

Then Miss Nancy heard his story ; and the 
evening deepened into night unheeded while 
she listened. Well did the attentive friend- 
listener know that such a project as the one 
developing in Howard Denby’s brain would 
take years to consummate, if indeed he did 
not prove only the guide to future genera- 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


61 


tions. Nature and man must inevitably 
unite to baffle, thwart, and divert his effort, 
like the brambles catching at a passing gar- 
ment. During those five years when Mrs. 
Cocks searched newspaper files for trace of 
him, alive or dead, he had quit the service 
of the volunteer navy, and wandered in the 
states of Central and South America. 
Youthful dreams of ambition were by no 
means over for the rather silent Howard, 
whose reserve took the form of cynicism, 
of which he was proud, and he discovered in 
the morbid reveries of loneliness a degree 
of superiority to his surroundings ill becom- 
ing a protege of Mr. McGuire. The dark-eyed 
maidens of tropical countries swinging in 
hammocks, cigarette between lips, in the 
fiery heat of noonday, acknowledged this 
melancholy pride as a charm, and darted soft 
glances at the fair-haired young man, who 
came among them, like a cold dawn on ice- 
fields. He was seeking opportunity, not the 
dark -eyed maidens, with the divining-rod 
of hope always in his hand. The century 
yielded many magic keys to unlock treasures 
of the earth, if one could find them. At last 
his rod bent in his grasp, and a thrill shot 
through his frame. He was permitted to 
survey his field like a bird on the wing. 
He found a paradise fast locked in the em- 
brace of mighty mountains, where life was 
an enchanted slumber, fanned by breezes 
from lofty peaks, shaded by groves of clus- 
tering palms, and rich with the most prodi- 
gal gifts of nature. Silver and gold veined 
the mountains, yet scarcely an effort had 
been made to follow the traces of the Indian 
miners, who wrought under bondage to Span- 
ish conquerors. Harvests remained ungath- 
ered, further than the indolent needs of the 
inhabitants were ministered to; while, .on 
vast plains below, starving multitudes 
sought food from distant lands. Your na- 
tive of the tropics starves amidst plenty. 

Howard Denby decided to bridge this 
chasm, equalize the circulation by depleting 
the paradise, and consequently enriching the 
plains leading down to the sea, thus open- 
ing a new avenue for the commercial world. 
Nature was against him, and man was 
against him. One half of the paradise 
laughed and shrugged their shoulders. Of 
what use to bridge the chasm The other 
half scowled at the intruder, and said, We 
will travel with mules over the mountain 
passes, as our fathers did.’^ The dwellers 
of the plains sighed and shook their heads. 
Impossible 

Nothing is impossible,” Howard Denby 
had returned, eying the paradise, which was 
placed like a crystal cup filled to the brim, 
on the mountain's flank above a parched 
desert. 

Then the first bramble caught in his gar- 
ment, and threatened to hold him fast. The 
paradise was shy of granting him privileges; 


even the starving plains glanced askance, 
and yielded reluctant assent to his claims. 
Why did this stranger come among them to 
disturb their lethargy ? What was to be his 
gain ? Precious weeks were wasted in care- 
fully extricating his robes from these bram- 
bles; formulas on paper were at last exe- 
cuted; and Howard Denby started for the 
coast to take his discovery out into the 
world. Lo ! he had not set foot on board a 
ship when the paradise was rent with inter- 
nal dissension ; a general was assassinated, 
the opposition seized the reins of govern- 
ment, and his claims were blown away like 
a feather before the blast of a hurricane. 
This tempest bore fruit in suspense, delay, 
disappointment. Howard Denby kept his 
temper and bided his time. 

Four months later he was again permitted 
to depart, the opposition being established 
under a new presidency, and having been 
won over to a cold assent to his projects. 
Armed with such credentials, he went to the 
United States, and knocked at men’s doors 
in vain. Speculators, millionaires, railroad- 
kings shook their heads, and thrust their 
hands into their pockets. If there was any 
thing in the scheme, somebody would have 
thought of it before. Howard Denby had 
best try the London market. The London 
market meant capital, powerful influence, 
the temptation to stake for great returns, 
peculiar to the age. 

^^And you will succeed,” said Miss Nancy, 
soothingly. 

I have to begin again,” said Howard 
Denby, wearily. In the first place, I must 
prove the very existence of the paradise as 
a geographical fact, and few persons here 
know if Patagonia is in North or South 
America.” 

^^You are tired to-night,” rejoined Miss 
Nancy. In the morning you will take up 
the burden with fresh courage.” 

^^I have followed a great financier to 
Brighton in hopes of obtaining an inter- 
view,” he answered, without animation. 

Howard Denby went away, after writing 
an advertisement for the owner of the pock- 
et-book, and Miss Nancy sat long in the suc- 
ceeding silence. The young man, whose an- 
ticipations already assumed the intensity of 
reality, had imbued her with kindred hope 
and enthusiasm. For the youth who climbs. 

Excelsior on his banner, there is seldom 
lacking the sympathy of a woman’s heart. 
Thus Miss Nancy thought of her guest, and 
before he had reached the next square he 
had forgotten her in the charming mystery 
of unfolding Blanche Pierman’s package. 
His fingers trembled as they fumbled over 
the dainty silk cord : within a tiny box lay 
a cameo — a fairy ship tossing in white 
surges. This was the girl’s remembrance of 
the night on board the Acis, when he had 
held her in his arms, precious gift of wild 


62 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


winds and stormy sea. On a slip of paper' 
attached was the motto : coeur vaillant 

rien W impossible P 

Why had she chosen these words for him ? 
Again he beheld Blanche, fair and shadowy, 
seated on the upper deck, in the half-myste- 
rious darkness, a delicate creature set apart 
for tender homage. He kissed the little 
cameo — childish reminder ! — and slipped it 
into his breast. 

Moonlight brooded over Brighton by the 
sea, where myriads of lights twinkled above 
the reflecting waves. Sober, middle-aged 
Miss Nancy pondered in her quiet chamber, 
moved by hope and fear. Howard Denby 
stood beneath the stars, wrapped in reverie, 
soft, sweet, and rash, kindled by that tiny 
gift hidden in his breast. 

At that very moment Blanche Pierman, 
seated amidst the brilliant throng of her 
Majesty’s Opera, glanced at Rockwell Cocks 
over her bouquet, and whispered, half shyly. 
Perhaps.” 

And Rockwell Cocks responded, 

^‘You darling!” 


CHAPTER XL 

BOULOGNE-SUR-MER. 

Does Miss Nancy Hawse live here ?” 

Mees Hawsee ? Ah, yees, madame, mais 
elle est soi'tV’ 

I will wait.” 

Madame the landlady of the H6tel Bre- 
tagne, plump and amiable, stood in the door 
of her little den of an office, which formed 
a background for her figure, while in the 
court-yard full of sunshine paused her ques- 
tioner, a middle-aged woman, wearing tint- 
ed glasses and a large black bonnet. In the 
centre of the court a dilapidated fountain 
splashed water in falling spray over stands 
of gay-tinted flowers, and through the paved 
stone archway a glimpse of narrow street 
was visible, where two old women dragged 
a hand-cart filled with luggage. 

A group of English ladies sat near the op- 
posite wall, one reading The Times through a 
double-eyeglass, and the rest knitting those 
soft wools which seem the inseparable sol- 
ace of their leisure moments, more intermi- 
nable than Penelope’s web. A pvettj femme 
de chambre crossed the sunny space with a 
pile of fresh linen on her arm. 

I will wait,” repeated the stranger, half 
absently, and, following the direction of ma- 
dame’s fat forefinger, entered the reading- 
room, while the landlady contemplated her 
retreating figure with head held slightly on 
one side, and jingled the keys in her apron- 
pocket meditatively. 

Whether her conclusions were satisfac- 
tory, or the stranger remained a mystery to 
her professional mind, as she had proved to 


many before her, madame did not reveal by 
outward sign, but presently returned to her 
ledger in the depths of the dark little office, 
and made some of those entries in the pe- 
culiarly spidery French handwriting which 
formed her chief occupation. The stranger 
turned her gray, set face toward the English 
ladies for a moment, then seated herself in 
the reading-room. She did not avail her- 
self of the periodicals on the table, but, re- 
moving her blue spectacles, took from her 
traveling-bag an advertisement. The slip 
of paper read thus : 

“Found on board the steamship Acis, wrecked 
June, 1875, a Russia-leather pocket-book, marked ‘ H. 
D.’ Owner is earnestly solicited to address J. M. Wil- 
lau, 52 St. Petersburg Place, Bayswater, London.” 

What an extraordinary-looking woman,” 
murmured one English lady, threading her 
needle with golden floss-silk. 

German or Scandinavian, I fancy,” haz- 
arded a second, winding a ball of sky-blue 
zephyr. 

No ; she is a Yankee,” affirmed the Times 
reader, in a tone of calm conviction. The 
princess wore pink at the last garden party, 
my dears.” 

The fountain splashed among the flowers 
in the sunny court-yard ; people came and 
went beneath the stone entrance arch, and 
time wore on. 

Miss Nancy was out, taking her first 
glance at Boulogne-sur-mer, and in happy 
ignorance of the events transpiring at her 
hotel. The survey was a most leisurely one. 
Every novel object amused her. Involun- 
tarily her gaze had followed an old soldier, 
jaunty and handsome, his blue coat befrog- 
ged with yellow, his lower limbs clad in 
scarlet inexpressibles, and a small cap rest- 
ing lightly on his snowy hair, while a fierce 
mustache of the same hue ornamented his 
bronzed face. The veteran was leading a 
fat poodle by a string, and he ogled Miss 
Nancy, no doubt in gallant response to her 
unfeigned interest in his own astounding 
toilet, until she blushed and turned another 
way. 

Good gracious !” exclaimed our traveler 
in confusion, what can he think of me, 
staring at him like that ?” 

Groups of English tourists crowded the 
streets ; Sceurs de Charitd, with meekly fold- 
ed hands and glistening rosaries, glided past; 
sailors toiled about the quai and muddy ba- 
sin ; there was shrill clamor of foreign voices 
in the Marche aux Poissons, where withered 
old fish-wives and blooming young maidens 
presided over treasures of ocean, with heaps 
of molten silver spread before them, and their 
white cap-borders crimped as if in imitation 
of the convoluted shells they vended in na- 
sal, sing-song tones. Picturesque, strongly 
colored Dames de Halle, the russet red cheek 
of matronly maturity, not devoid of coquetry 


MISS NANCrS 

in dangling gold ear-rings and ready smile, 
in revealing white teeth, fading to the wrin- 
kled, yellow face of age, eager for francs in 
lieu of sons ! Lobsters, shrimps, soles were 
here displayed; piles of mussels; pearl- 
tinged and tiny frosted fish, possible rela- 
tives of the fairy white-bait across Channel, 
sorted by nimble brown fingers, and sold 
with infinite variety of rapid gesticula- 
tion ; the stone roof arching high overhead, 
the wide entrance framing blue sky and blue 
water beyond. 

At home, in Briarbush, the Marche aux 
Poissons consisted of a solitary cart, of a 
rusty and dilapidated description, driven 
around once a week, to the melody of a tin 
horn, by Jacob Skinner, whose souks salva- 
tion was feared to have been imperiled by his 
vehement protestations of faith in the fresh- 
ness of leathery clams, dubious oysters, and 
rigid flounders. Nobody believed Jacob 
Skinner, and every body always bought his 
delicacies in Briarbush. 

^^When shall we have white caps with 
crimped borders, gay ’kerchiefs, green and 
purple petticoats, which add such a charm 
to this unsavory business?” reflected Miss 
Nancy, and paused on the curbstone to wit- 
ness the passage of an American circus. 

With music of drum and fifes, with flut- 
ter of Stars and Stripes from piebald char- 
gers and gilded chariots, The Great United 
States Combination” passed, a graceful Gal- 
lic Liberty upheld on a glittering throne by 
clowns just from the Champs ^filys^es. 

Much refreshed by this evidence of na- 
tional greatness abroad. Miss Nancy had then 
taken a funny little basket-carriage, shaded 
by a striped awning, like a tent on four poles, 
and driven still farther away from the H6tel 
Bretagne, where her presence was so much 
desired. The sunshine lay hot on downs, 
grayish - green and sandy in hue, unlike 
N Brighton’s rich emerald verdure and redun- 
dant flower bloom ; a stretch of white road 
wound up the hill, barred with the shadows 
of great trees, and where a priest walked, 
his tall, thin form sharply outlined against 
the surrounding brightness, and his black 
robe flying behind as he moved. 

The sunshine lay hot on quaint, narrow 
streets, rising so steeply from the quai in 
some instances as to be broken into flights 
of steps, blackened nets dangling from poles 
thrust out of upper windows. An old wom- 
an sat in the shadow of Notre Dame, with 
shrewd, kindly face, and a blue shawl fold- 
ed over her breast, selling clusters of amber 
grapes and dusky j)urple plums ; a barefoot- 
ed child toiled along, bearing a milk -yoke 
on her slender shoulders; bauds of piping 
school -boys, with wooden sachels slung 
across their backs, swarmed up the slope, 
guarded by a brother.” 

Oh how I should like to peep into their 
houses, and see how they live !” soliloquized 


PILGKIMAGE. 63 

the school-marm, as she entered the matelot 
quarter of the town. 

Was it her fancy, or did the hot sunshine 
discover more little pictures here, rare bits 
of color, than elsewhere ? The homes of the 
matelots rose behind the modern city like a 
ragged fringe of labor on the skirts of pleas- 
ure, narrow, roughly paved, and with water 
flowing down a central gutter ; houses, two 
stories in height, with weather-beaten roofs, 
and walls colored yellow, red, and brown. 
No men were visible : the fleet was off on the 
summer fishing cruise. Here reigned the 
French matelotte, brisk, alert, industrious, 
and independent, with a lurking fire in her 
dark eye warning off tyranny — ruler on shore 
while her mate holds his own at sea. Ad- 
mirable phase of female suffrage, this Bou- 
logne matelottej marrying in her own order, 
self-helpful, not neglectful of home duties, 
but intrenched on the very stronghold of in- 
dependence — her own hearth-stone — by vir- 
tue of the aid she renders in maintaining it. 
Small demur could the masculine world make 
to such supremacy, if based on like domestic 
thrift. Miss Nancy simply gloried in her, and 
the matelotte nodded back to her, half smil- 
ingly, half defiantly, and never with servili- 
ty, as the little basket- carriage jogged on 
over the rough pavement toward the cliff. 

Marie leaned against the wall in the 
shade, her black hair tightly braided be- 
neath the cap which formed an aureole about 
her oval face and heavy gold ornaments ; her 
small feet crossed, not without art, so as to 
advantageously display heeled slipper and 
red stocking beneath the folds of lavender 
gown. How handsome she was in the pli- 
ant strength of her youth, as her dark eyes 
met those of Miss Nancy frankly, fearlessly, 
while her deft fingers never ceased from knit- 
ting the stocking she held ! 

Over yonder sat la vieille Babette, stooping 
to mend the frayed nets, her house darken- 
ed by years, herself subdued to opaque brown 
tints, her tongue sharpened to querulous wit- 
ticisms on the faults of a rising generation, 
yet neatly shod, and with a well-turned an- 
kle that had won praise in her day as well. 

Celestine issued from the church door, 
trundling her twin babies in a tiny carriage, 
swathed in plaid coverings, like dolls, and 
sleeping peacefully. Who so proud as Ce- 
lestine ? She held her head high, and suffer- 
ed the stranger lady in the basket-phaeton 
to admire the babies just christened, while 
Marraine Sophie walked beside her. Yes, 
indeed ; one may look the whole world in the 
face when one has brought twins like these 
to the christening. 

Poor young widow Madeleine, timid and 
pale, hovering near the church-door, waited 
for the outcoming priest, clad in black, baby 
wrapped in a mourning shawl. The Cal- 
vary on the hill pointed heavenward when 
the great waves broke over the deck, and 


64 


MISS NANCY^S PILGRIMAGE. 


the image of home was revealed to the fish- 
erman’s eyes before he was ingulfed in aw- 
ful darkness. 

Marvelous contrast of races ! Across the 
strip of water dwells the Englishwoman of 
the lower classes, attired in flaring-colored 
raiment, the wreck of a once fashionable bon- 
net on her head, and flapping crinoline, ill-fit- 
ting boots on clumsy feet j moreover, meek 
and crushed, like her bonnet, seldom self- 
assertive, and often beaten by her cruel lord. 

The basket-carriage climbed up the nar- 
row, winding streets until the Calvary was 
reached. There it stood on the cliff, the 
rude cross rising against the sky, and the 
kneeling saints facing seaward, as if follow- 
ing with prayerful look the boats sailing to 
distant Iceland. How suggestive of storm 
and darkness, of failing eyes striving to 
pierce the gloom of cloud and spray to sig- 
nal this home beacon and emblem of salva- 
tion in one ! Miss Nancy alighted, and stood 
by the rough wall. 

Above her Napoleon I., in bronze, gazed 
over at the Britain he would fain have con- 
quered. The old coclier, evidently repub- 
lican at heart, pointed laughingly to the 
statue with his whip. The sea was like a 
burnished mirror, without ripple or surge in 
the fiery radiance of noon; bath -wagons 
lined the beach; the etablissement was or- 
namented with many flags, and skaters dart- 
ed about the rink in endless maze of mo- 
tion. To look down from the cliff was to 
marvel at it all. How could these English 
youths and maidens enjoy skating on an 
asphalt pavement beneath a broiling sun? 
America, the youngest nation, must have 
been organized without this chord of bois- 
terous delight in sports which never flag 
or fail in the older Anglo-Saxon. Croquet, 
genteel pastime, associated with green turf, 
dowagers on garden - chairs, afternoon tea, 
and the flirtations of young people, will en- 
dure, no doubt, while matches are to be made 
in Great Britain and her uttermost prov- 
inces. America adopted the game with fe- 
verish energy and enthusiasm ; every lawn, 
every door-yard, abounded in wickets to trip 
the unwary ; discord as to rules and regula- 
tions disturbed the peace of rural life ; and 
the fever spent itself, leaving a few hlas^ 
youths and maidens who do not acknowl- 
edge themselves played out.” 

Continual application to games may de- 
velop their muscles; but are their brains 
improved ?” queried Miss Nancy, sedately. 

Napoleon I., in bronze, gazed out over the 
calm blue sea toward the islands he never 
conquered, and the basket - carriage jogged 
down-hill once more. 

A lady waiting for me ? I am very sor- 
ry to have detained you, madame.” Thus 
speaking Miss Nancy paused in the reading- 
room of the Hotel Bretagne, and confronted 
her strange visitor. 


My dear Miss Hawse, I have waited all 
my life,”* she replied. ^^I am quite used to 
it at my age.” 

^^You were the steerage - passenger, and 
staid in the rigging that dreadful night,” 
said Miss Nancy. How did you find me ?” 

Tears gathered in her visitor’s eyes, and 
trickled slowly down her cheeks. Miss Nan- 
cy observed that she wore mourning. 

Take me to a more retired place, where 
we can be alone. I have crossed the Chan- 
nel to see you,” she explained. 

Miss Nancy led the way to her own cham- 
ber, a plain little room, with floor of red 
tiles, in which all the decoration expended 
had been lavished on a chintz canopy of 
elaborate construction over the bed. 

I am glad you had calm weather,” she 
said, delicacy prompting her to afford her 
visitor time to recover from her evident 
emotion. 

The very depths of human wretchedness 
may be reached on one of those boats with- 
out seasickness, and the craft seems little 
larger than the tugs of our harbors at home. 
I sat for two hours drenched in spray, and 
with the water surging over the deck, the 
odor of brandy-and-water permeating every 
thing ; ancient mariners watching hopefully 
all changes of complexion, armed with ba- 
sins ; and would-be good sailors standing in 
the attitude of the Colossus of Rhodes, smiles 
of defiance usually changing to sickly un- 
certainty.” 

The visitor was seated beside the open 
window, and had consented to remove her 
bonnet. She now presented Miss Nancy with 
her card as a tardy formula of introduction. 

Miss Martha Dunne.” 

Where had she heard that name before ? 

^‘Surely Mrs. Sharpe mentioned you in 
London,” said our traveler. 

^^Mrs. Sharpe is an old friend and school- 
mate of mine,” replied Miss Dunne. ^^She 
wished me to join her in travel, but I have 
the Master’s work to j)erform, and now, as all 
is changed, I must return home.” 

‘^All is changed?” Miss Nancy ventured 
to repeat, strangely moved, and interested 
in her singular companion. 

The other woman clasped her hands on 
the table and regarded her fixedly. 

^^All is changed since his death,” she re- 
turned, solemnly. ‘^I owe much to you for 
interesting yourself to take him the slip of 
paper when I was not permitted to cross the 
steerage-rope, and for holding me that night 
in the rigging. Yes, I saw your face in the 
dawn, after you had fainted.” 

^‘You are speaking of the millionaire,” 
said Miss Nancy, wonderingly. 

^^I am speaking of my brother, Hiram 
Dunne, a hard man and a wicked one, who 
has gone to his account.” 

^^Let God judge him, then,” said Miss 
Nancy. 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


65 


God 'Will judge Mm by the record of all 
the years. He defrauded his own parents 
of their hit of land ; he robbed me long ago, 
and then strove to make peace with his own 
conscience by allowing me a pittance to keep 
me from want, but I rejected it. He was one 
accursed from his very cradle. Do you know 
why ? Because he was born with a greedy 
love of gold. I would pray for the uprooting 
of other sins and vices that taint the soul’s 
purity ; but to be born with the fangs of av- 
arice already clutching the heart-strings, re- 
quires little less than a miracle to eradicate. 
He gained all that he craved of the mam- 
mon of this world : reputation for great clev- 
erness as a financier, influence over the minds 
of other men, power unlimited to rob the 
fatherless and weak ones. If I were a Ro- 
man Catholic, I would pray for his soul after 
death.” 

Miss Nancy listened in shocked surprise. 
Again she saw the small form in gray, the 
Vaudyck beard, the pinched, upturned face 
drifting past them in the cold dawn. Her 
visitor’s plain, almost masculine face, changed 
suddenly. 

“I would have saved him if I could, that 
night,” she whispered, hoarsely. He was 
not fit to die. Was I hard with him ? Oh, 
could I have changed his nature by more 
tender, gentle counsel, instead of stern, bit- 
ter upbraiding ? What letters I used to write 
him, warning him of the wrath to come !” 

Miss Nancy went over and took her hand. 

Poor soul! I am sure you did your best. 
Reflect, if you had gone in his place, how 
much more must have been his remorse,” she 
said, soothingly. 

Ah, it is easy to talk, and there is no 
use beating about the bush, I strove to mor- 
tify him sometimes by my poverty. I would 
not take a penny, and I served for my daily 
bread. For years all my interests have cen- 
tred in the Woman’s question.” 

^^Did your brother know you were a 
fellow-passenger on the AeisV’ Miss Nancy 
could not refrain from asking. 

Martha hesitated a moment before she an- 
swered. 

No. I wished to come to England, and 
inspect certain systems adopted for the Lon- 
don poor. I had saved enough for a first- 
class passage, calculating also the expenses 
of return, and — Well, a poor, fallen Scotch 
girl longed to come home to die. I had not 
enough money for both ; she must stay, or 
I give up my project. Besides, she needed 
careful nursing ; so we both came together 
in the steerage.” 

Nancy put her arm around the neck of 
Martha Dunne, and kissed her on the cheek. 

‘‘ He came to me there,” continued the 
other, rapidly. I wrote on that slip of pa- 
per because the Scotch girl would not have 
a shilling of her own when we landed. Yes, 
he gave her ten pounds, and wished to take 
5 


me into the other cabin, but I could not leave 
her alone. Now I inherit all his vast wealth ; 

I am next of kin, and he made no will.” 

strange similarity of circumstances ! Miss 
Nancy was next of kin, and Uncle Simon had 
made no will. 

I see the finger of Providence in it all,” 
pursued Martha Dunne, her face lighting up 
as if with some spiritual inspiration. The 
money falls to me — unworthy instrument 
that I am — in order that I may make resti- 
tution, and feed the poor.” 

May the Lord prosper your resolution !” 
said Miss Nancy, fervently. 

Where is the pocket-book?” demanded 
Miss Dunne, with a pouncing swiftness of 
manner, and abrupt change of tone to one 
of dry business promptitude. You look 
surprised. But for your advertisement in 
the English newspapers, I should not have 
come. I read it twice, attracted by the name 
of the steamer Ads, and laid it aside without 
interest. Next day it confronted me again. 

‘ H. D.’ might mean Hiram Dunne, and the 
book belong to my poor brother. I wrote 
to the address, Bayswater, London, and a 
young man, Howard Denby by name, called 
on me. The result is, I started in person, 
hopiug to overtake you at Boulogne, for I 
must return by the night boat, and sail im- 
mediately for America. I am a rich woman 
now,” she added, with a certain grim mock- 
ery of tone. 

Miss Nancy trembled with repressed ex- 
citement as she gave the book to her visitor. 

‘‘Yes, this is Hiram’s handwriting,” she 
said, calmly, turning the leaves. 

“ Then he must have known about Uncle 
Simon, and what became of all his money,” 
cried Miss Nancy, eagerly. 

Martha Dunne glaced at her curiously 
over the rim of her spectacles. 

Down in the court, the little fountain 
bubbled up and brimmed over the flowers ; 
people came and went beneath the stone 
arch ; madame, the landlady, popped in and 
out of her office, like a plump sparrow in a 
bird -house. The hours were passing un- 
heeded, while Miss Nancy and her compan- 
ion pored over the pocket-book. It was now 
Martha Dunne’s turn to listen to the story 
of another woman’s inheritance as next of 
kin. 

“ Mind you, Hiram was not aware of the 
death of this person,” she said, pointing to 
the entry in the book relating to Uncle Si- 
mon : “ Mr. Simon Warren, Lilborough, Ver- 
mont. Reply to his questions concerning 
his shares at early date.” 

“Apparently not; and yet Uncle Simon 
had been dead many months,” said Nancy, 
dryly. 

“A man of such business connection has 
many matters to occupy his thoughts. If 
your uncle had not written him for some 
time, he would have been set aside by crowds 


66 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


of other people. Hiram always had his 
hands full of work.” 

All that was needed to make Miss Dunne 
take up the weapon of defense for her dead 
brother was to have another inferentially 
cast hlame upon him, even in support of her 
own vehement theories. 

A gray pallor of fatigue was succeeding 
her previous animation, and Miss Nancy per- 
ceived it, even amidst her own intense ex- 
citement at the prospect of possibly discov- 
ering the clue to Uncle Simon’s lost money. 

<^You must come down with me to the 
table -d’hotej and rest afterward, instead of 
returning to-night,” she said, gently. 

No, no ; let me have a cup of tea here, 
and a bit of toast.” 

So Martha Dunne slighted the table-d’hote 
in favor of a cup of French tea, about which 
there was a flavor of straw, and sat nibbling 
a dry crust beside the open window, while 
Miss Nancy reluctantly quit her for the six- 
o’clock feast of the H6tel Bretagne. 

The banquet was spread in a spacious 
salle d mangel', where various tropical birds 
flew along the cornice, and gracefully up- 
held wreaths of flowers in fresco between 
lace-draped windows. Oh, long white table, 
decorated with gorgeous flowering plants in 
wax and muslin, and standards of fruit which 
nobody is expected to consume ! Oh, Barma- 
cide feast, set forth on imposing menu, from 
watery soup with islands of carrot floating 
therein, morsels of veal, the wing of a par- 
tridge in a fortress of mushrooms, the ghost 
of a slice of roast beef, suggestive of siege 
acquaintance with donkey, to salads guilt- 
less of dressing ! 

^^Consommee aux ceufs; poisson au gratin ; 
quenelles de volailles ; choux-fleurs sauce pi- 
quante ; chapon roti ; salade; ponding diplo- 
matique; petits gateaux How vividly are 
recalled the wearisome routine ; the row of 
faces opposite, the owners as bored with 
staring at you as you are of observing their 
peculiarities ; the feeble, chirping attempts 
at conversation here and there ! 

All these things possessed great interest 
for Miss Nancy as novelties, and she had 
even sipped, with a guilty sense of dissipa- 
tion, mn ordinaire, the alternative being to 
strangle with thirst. She had childish faith 
in the culinary efforts of madame’s husband, 
an invisible presence, who reigned as chef 
in the kitchen, and sent up mysterious dish- 
es compounded with artistic elegance of mo- 
saic fragments : his most perplexing ragouts 
did not dismay Miss Nancy’s digestion. To- 
day all was changed. She took no part in 
the conversation of her neighbors, trifled 
with the viands, and escaped as soon as pos- 
sible to her visitor again. 

Martha Dunne was kneeling in prayer, 
with the pocket-book clasped in her hands, 
when Miss Nancy entered the room. 

In the softly gathering summer twilight, 


Miss Nancy watched the Channel boat go 
out once more, bearing away the strange 
woman who had come so unexpectedly into 
her life. The quai was thronged with noisy 
crowds; lights flashed along the water’s 
brink ; gay strains of music issued from the 
itablissement, and against the clear sky stood 
out the rude cross of the Mariner’s Calva- 
ry guiding Martha Dunne also over stormy 
seas. 


CHAPTER XII. 

ENGAGED. 

The first Sunday in September. At St. 
Cloud there was a fete, and the waters would 
play. 

The heat of summer lingered in the clear 
sky, in the radiant sunshine which steeped 
the verdure of the old trees gold in the hill- 
side, and marked alleys of delightful shade 
among the shrubbery, where the fountains 
jetted columns of wavering mist like the 
tremulous impulse of a hope. Little steam- 
ers puffed along the river, burdened with 
living freight of pleasure - seekers, lines of 
fiacres and the chemin de fer poured streams 
of citizens into this one avenue leading up 
to the old chateau. 

The way was lined with booths, games, 
merry-go-rounds, cooks in cap and apron, 
whisking delicately browned crumpets and 
fritters over little charcoal fires ; nasal He- 
brew venders of small wares ; and persuasive 
sun-burned peasant- women selling tiny ivo- 
ry toys. Parents tossed and caught the ball 
with their children on the grass, good -hu- 
mor and gayety beamed on every face. Wo 
like to consider ourselves better than these 
people playing ball with the children on the 
grass, but are we actually superior ? When 
we can prove ourselves such in other eyes 
besides our own by our record, then will it 
be time to feel pride in our Protestant sanc- 
tity — not yet, O Pharisee ! while an enemy 
can shatter our glass houses with many rude 
stones of reproach and truth. 

In the line of carriages which approached 
the entrance gate was one containiug four 
strangers. As they alighted, the elder lady 
gathered up her silk train, and said, play- 
fully, 

My dear Blanche, you may run on with 
Rockwell, and we old people will overtake 
you at the terrace.” 

Many thanks, madame ma mere,^^ replied 
Rockwell Cocks, lightly. I will take good 
care of her,” he added, lookiug down fondly 
on Blanche, who blushed, and laughed in re- 
sponse to his glance. 

^‘How proud he is of her already!” said 
Mrs. Pierman, taking her husband’s arm, and 
preparing to follow at such a leisurely pace 
as would take the lovers out of sight. 

She was very considerate in these matters, 


MISS NANCrS PILGEIMAGE. 


67 


and prided herself on her diplomacy as fut- 
ure mother - in - law, to that distinguished 
match, Rockwell Cocks. 

^^They are just suited to each other, and 
will he very, very happy together,’^ she add- 
ed, musingly. 

hope so,’^ said Dr. Pierman, thought- 
fully. 

How the whole matter had come about he 
scarcely knew. Before he had observed the 
attentions of Rockwell Cocks to his daugh- 
ter, Mrs. Pierman was dropping gratified 
hints of the circumstance, and fortifying 
him with suggestions as to what he must re- 
ply when the time came for speech, as par- 
ent and guardian. Rockwell Cocks would 
have scarcely been his choice for Blanche : 
possibly he was surprised at her preference. 
Here was the girl coming to him, laying 
her head on his shoulder in the old childish 
fashion, and clasping her arms about his 
neck to whisper her wonderful tidings in his 
ear. 

Papa, Rockwell Cocks says he loves me 
very much, and wants me to marry him.” 

Why, you are not yet grown up,” the af- 
fectionate father had said, in doubt and per- 
plexity. 

am eighteen years old, sir,” Blanche 
had replied, with maidenly dignity. 

“ I thought it was seventeen,” Dr. Pierman 
had demurred, abashed by his daughter’s 
glance of reproachful indignation. ‘‘Well, 
do you love this young man, my pet ?” 

“ I think so.” Dimples and smiles on her 
face, and downcast lashes almost brushing 
velvet cheeks. 

Dr. Pierman had kissed her, with a half 
sigh of regret. No man in the universe was 
half good enough to possess his pretty dar- 
ling. 

“You hope so! Now, that is just like a 
man,” exclaimed Mrs. Pierman, as they walk- 
ed up the avenue at St. Cloud. 

“ You Icnoiv the couple will be very happy 
because you choose to think so, and that is 
just like a woman, my dear. How well you 
are looking to-day, Margaret !’^ 

“Paris always agrees with me, John.” 

Mrs. Pierman was looking her best; soft 
black lace fell from her shoulders over her 
rich black dress; a single white flower re- 
lieved the velvet diadem of her exquisite 
bonnet; a faint bloom tinged her usually 
colorless cheeks. 

“ Your mother is very thoughtful, darling. 
She gives a fellow a chance to be spoony, 
and all that,” said Rockwell, in advance. 

“Perhaps she remembers that she was 
young once, as well,” whispered Blanche, 
shyly. 

“Yes, sweetness. Halloo! the band is 
going to play. We must get as far away as 
possible from the din.” 


They climbed the slope, and paused in 
one of the groves, where the interlacing 
boughs made lofty cathedral arches to ex- 
clude the day; temples roofed with foliage 
for fresco and decoration. The gay crowd 
hummed and shouted below; and along the 
terrace rose the great fountains, still mute, 
and rigid stone, la Nante, et la hasse cascade, 
guarded by the statues of Seine and Marne. 
Rockwell Cocks regarded his companion 
with a smile, and took her hand. 

In her cream -yellow dress she looked 
like a sunbeam caught amidst the dark twi- 
light gloom of the trees. Fair to see in her 
youth and grace, with that softened, pensive 
expression on her mobile face. A quaint lit- 
tle bonnet, triumph of coquettish French 
millinery, suffered tendrils of golden hair 
to escape on brow and neck ; delicate lace 
formed a ruff about the slender throat ; one 
of Rockwell’s gifts twinkled in the small 
ears. 

“ You are the priestess of this temple, or 
a fairy dwelling among the fountains,” said 
Rockwell, in whom poetic simile was apt to 
be forced. 

“ I wonder if the people know, dear — ” 

“ Know what, little priestess ?” 

“ Know that we — are — engaged ?” 
Blanche lifted her eyes to his face. 

Know? The very statues realized the 
fact ; smiles of varying degree of cynicism 
and kindliness had followed the young peo- 
ple all the way up the hill. 

“ Perhaps they do. What does it matter, 
pet ? Very likely they consider us old mar- 
ried people.” 

“ You are so sensible, always, Rockwell.” 

“ Oh, awfully sensible. Let’s have a peep 
at the ruins before the waters play, though. 
Mind the sharp stones, little feet ! By J ove, 
you have got the prettiest foot I ever 
saw !” 

“ Do not treat me as if I were a baby,” 
protested Blanche, laughing. 

Thoughtful eyes might well be raised 
above the holiday throng to that rim of 
broken wall on the crest of the hill. How 
does it happen that we find only a heap of 
rubbish, and empty shell of crumbling inte- 
rior, with a gleam of gilded cornice visible 
here and there, and windows forming arch- 
es for glimpses of Paris spread almost at our 
feet, instead of the once famous chateau,? 
This is the end of it all — ruin and deser- 
tion. 

Gift of Louis XIY. to his brother of 
Orleans ; gift of Louis XVI. to Marie An- 
toinette. Henry HI. was assassinated by 
Jacques Clement in the neighboring camp. 
Napoleon Bonaparte was nominated First 
Consul here. Blucher had his head-quar- 
ters on this spot when the city capitulated 
a second time. Charles X. signed the fa- 
mous proclamation abolishing freedom of 
the press, and dissolving the Chambers, 


68 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


wMch caused the revolution of July, 1830; 
and Napoleon III. made of St. Cloud a sum- 
mer residence. 

Then the storm followed swiftly, in Ger- 
man occupation of the village, in desolating 
blight of bombardment, in all the sufferings 
of war, until that conflagration of October, 
1870, when chateau ^ barracks, and houses 
burned, with a chance shot from Mont Ya- 
l^rien, the Germans assert ; when the Prus- 
sian quarters were fired and destroyed, the 
French affirm. No town in the environs 
suffered more severely, and mounds of ruins 
long bore testimony to the melancholy fact, 
as this one where the Sunday /efe was now 
transpiring. 

Blanche Pierman rested her arm on the 
ledge of a dismantled casement, Rockwell 
played with the fringe of her parasol. The 
city roofs dotted the valley with glittering 
vanes and spires shining in the afternoon 
sun ; the Invalides dome rose like a golden 
bubble ; St. Vincent de Paul framed a dis- 
tant acclivity ; the Pantheon towered to- 
ward the sky ; and in the background was 
Montmartre. 

^^What a beautiful world it is!” said 
Blanche, softly. 

Yes, in fine weather,” responded Rock- 
well, sententiously. 

He also leaned on the window-ledge, and 
poked the mortar with his cane; he even 
formed his lips into an inarticulate whistle. 
He was trying very hard to be good, and he 
was growing mortally tired of the situation. 
Blanche charmed him after a fashion. He 
liked to buy her pretty gifts with reference 
to becomingness as adjuncts to her delicate 
beauty ; he liked to play with her tiny fin- 
gers, and kiss her soft cheeks, and take care 
of her; but unwavering sweetness is apt to 
be cloying, and Blanche’s daily injunctions 
from her mother were to be very sweet in- 
deed. Not that the girl needed these in- 
structions ; she was under a spell, and some- 
thing of the quiescence of mood in this spell 
was due to surprise at her own achievement. 
She was engaged to Rockwell Cocks ; his 
ring sparkled on her finger. All her set 
would hear of it with wonder and envy. 
The tidings had already gone home, and 
would doubtless be printed in fashionable 
newspapers. 

Broad alleys stretched behind them bor- 
dered with stiff' box, where groups of sol- 
diers gathered, surely the most clumsy in 
aspect on earth. A boy passed near hum- 
ming Vive Napoleon Quatre !” and glanced 
stealthily at the soldiers from beneath his 
brows. 

Blanche, still gazing at the distant city 
through the window, quoted : 

“ ‘ No ! Not with turbulence ; 

Not with fret, and worry of doubt, 

Not with uncertainty compassed about ; 

With wooing and coaxing to-day, 


And thwarting and crossing to-inorrow ; 

Not with light laughter and play, 

Or too much trouble and sorrow ; 

Or vexed tears scorching the longing eyes, 

Or pitiful glances, or penitent sighs. 

Would I have love. 

No ! Calm and earnest, good and true, 
Mellowed by tenderness through and through ; 

Ever the same, yet ever new ; 

Quietly watchful, brooding above, 

O’er me, and round me— such the love— 

Such the love only I care to have.’ ” 

Rockwell Cocks suppressed a yawn with 
difficulty, and no less sudden animation suc- 
ceeded ennui. 

The deuce ! I did not know she was in 
Paris,” he exclaimed. 

Blanche, a trifle piqued by the yawn, 
turned to observe a small, fat woman, no 
longer young, and never handsome, magnif- 
icently attired, and followed by a lap-dog. 
The small, fat woman was talking with gay 
volubility, and every body turned to look at 
her. 

^'What a vulgar, overdressed creature!” 
said Blanche, half pettishly. 

'' My dear child, she is a celebrated actress, 
awfully rich, and undoubtedly chic. She has 
only to wear her bonnet cocked over one 
eye, or tumbling off the back of her head, 
and all the other women in Christendom will 
follow her example,” said Rockwell. 

Has she, indeed !” retorted Blanche, air- 
ily. Then I hope all the other women in 
Christendom look better than the original.” 

Come along down again. Mamma will 
expect you,” said Rockwell, carelessly, and 
glanced back at the actress, who made a lit- 
tle moue at him, considered bewitching by 
her admirers before the foot-lights. 

Blanche grew cold from head to foot. 

An old officer had appeared on the ter- 
race in the dense crowd which had gathered 
since the young Americans climbed the hill. 
The old officer — remnant of the chivalry of 
other days — bowed and smiled as he expel- 
led the people from the terrace and closed 
the gates. Thus driven back into smaller 
space, a sea of heads extended down the 
steps, human beiugs became packed to the 
semblance of a flower-bed, rustling and 
swaying with laughter and excitement. 

There is a pause of expectation while the 
old officer paces the terrace alone; then a 
thread of glistening silver begins to purl 
down from the heights, taking a leisurely 
course into the waiting basins, brimming 
these, and presently issuing from massive 
jaws of heads, one by one, until with tri- 
umphant rush of sound the waters pent up 
during the week in secret, dark channels 
find the glory of outer day, springing forth 
in gushing volumes to meet the sparkling 
sunshine, the masses of green trees, the blue 
sky, and winding Seine below. Play, jet- 
ting fountains of St. Cloud! Would that 
darkened souls might never behold worse 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


69 


spectacles on the seventh clay than these col- 
umns and shafts of dissolving snow framed 
in the soft verdure of the hill ! 

The old officer smiled and- bowed; tbe 
crowd was amused, the children in ecstasies 
of delight, and above the trees was visible a 
rim of ruined chateau wall. 

We feared you two were lost,” said Mrs. 
Pierman, sweetly. 

Her daughter was very quiet as they drove 
home, and Rockwell Cocks rallied her on her 
silent mood nutil diverted by passing vehi- 
cles. 

Blanche had accepted her mother’s in- 
structions in the new sphere of life she was 
entering upon with docile obedience, and 
had adopted them according to the varia- 
tions of her own character afterward. Rock- 
well Cocks was her first offer, and a very 
great match. What girl could remain in- 
sensible to the flattery of his choice ? Blanche 
was her father’s child in stronger traits than 
belonged to her mother; she was endowed 
with more generous impulses, a more ardent 
and lively imagination. Thus she received 
the fact of betrothal from the worldly-wise 
hands of her mother, as it were, but in se- 
cret colored, refined, and beautified it to a 
nobler ideal with rose-bloom of her own fan- 
cy. The good fortune of her success was 
fairly heaped upon her at every turn, clog- 
ging the wings of careless gayety. More- 
over, when Mrs. Pierman was not exhorting 
her, Blanche was passed over, as if by mutual 
consent, to Mrs. Cocks, no less eloquent on 
the subject of her son’s manifold perfections, 
until the horizon of her hitherto free young 
life became cramped to the perpetual con- 
sideration of Rockwell Cocks in all phases, 
because two silly women chose to worship 
him, one as a doting mother, and the other 
as an ambitious mother-in-law. This hom- 
age bored the youth himself excessively, and 
he would have preferred in Blanche more of 
the spicy raillery of their first acquaintance ; 
but Mrs. Pierman’s anxiously hovering pres- 
ence and watchful glance effectually check- 
ed a flow of spirits in her daughter. 

^‘It will be your own fault if you lose 
him,” she would urge. I beg of you. not 
to try any girlish whims and foolish ca- 
prices on Rockwell, when he has such hosts 
of girls to choose from only too eager to 
catch him.” 

Mrs. Pierman meant no harm by this ad- 
vice, but she was so vitally interested in 
the result. She rather respected Blanche 
for her conquest, yet to display such a senti- 
ment would be highly injudicious. Blanche 
must be put on her mettle, and not let the 
prize slip through her fingers — that was all. 

The girl receiving this mystery, called the 
homage of first love, took it into the inner- 
most sanctuary of thought, brooded over it, 
wrapped it about with tender resolves of 
futijre fulfillment, until it became a pearl. 


Rockwell loved her. Of this she was as- 
sured daily in caresses, notes, flowers, and 
Ujouterie, and the wonderful revelation fill- 
ed her with humility, a certain wistful sad- 
ness in return. She would make him a good 
wife, studying her sphere by all models of 
excellence, until she attained their stand- 
ard. Sometimes she tried to tell him this 
with flushing cheek, her touch upon his hair ; 
and Rockwell was moved by her sweetness 
and devotion ; but her imaginative faculties 
perplexed, even irritated him. He would 
have scorned to marry a commonplace girl ; 
still, if Blanche did not etherealize emotion, 
was, in fact, a trifle more like prosaic mor- 
tals, she would become a comfortable com- 
panion. 

She is the very best child in the world !” 
he said one day to his mother, with remorse- 
ful vehemence. I am a lucky dog to have 
secured her, but courtship is rather a strain 
upon a fellow when your future mother 
eternally smiles upon you. Heigh-ho ! Is 
not a three-months’ engagement sufficiently 
long ?” 

You naughty boy !” said Mrs. Cocks, re- 
garding him with proud complacency. 

In the carriage, Mrs. Pierman and her 
prospective son kept the ball of conversa- 
tion in motion. Blanche was silent. 

In the Bois, people were lying on the 
grass, as if clinging to summer with all the 
ardor of a population loving to dwell out- 
of-doors, and for whom the dreary sleet 
would come bj^-and-by. No marvel that 
the trees seemed dwarfed, the shrubbery in- 
significant, for twice had the timber been 
felled in these years ; once during the Rus- 
sian and English investment, and lately by 
the besieged. The lakes lay tranquil in the 
warm light; chalets and caf^s peeped in- 
vitingly out of the foliage of the islands ; 
there was no flash of torch-light in revels on 
skates ; but the grandes dames , in marvelous 
toilets, drove* along, unfurling their dainty 
parasols instead. 

Revolving sprays of water refreshed the 
greensward ; here a liquid wheel ; there a 
slower sweep as of a fan, or the plumy 
movement of a fern frond. How exquisite 
is this refining of the beautiful, making of 
the spouting column a lace -work veil of 
dew-drops shed upon the air, like the fleet- 
ing aroma, the very perfume of sprinkling, 
gemming without drenching each flower, 
petal, and grass blade ! 

The margin of cream-colored dwellings, 
and then the Arc de I’Etoile, rose against the 
blue sky, with that brilliant vista all bloom- 
ing with flowers, down the broad Champs 
Elys^es, and through the trees — like desti- 
ny — the dismantled Tuileries beyond. The 
golden tide of expiring day gleamed on the 
obelisk of the Place de la Concorde, and 
brought out the white statues in fine relief. 
There sat the majestic sisterhood of cities, 


70 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


Lille, Strasburg, Nantes, Kouen, Brest, Mar- 
seilles, and Lyons 5 and in their midst the 
fountains. Pacific and Mediterranean, send- 
ing the tribute of the seas over to tlie riv- 
ers Rhine and Rhone. 

Mrs. Pierman discussed the relative mer- 
its of Tiffany’s jewelry in comparison with 
certain French shops ; Dr. Pierman made 
an entry in his note-book of an hour when 
he could gain admittance to a private hos- 
pital. Who in all that tide of life, flowing 
up and down the spacious promenade, re- 
membered that the sisterhood of cities on 
their stone pedestals guarded something 
more than the gleaming obelisk, the spark- 
ling fountains? — a spot where Chateau- 
briand affirmed all the water in the world 
would fail to wash away the blood-stains ; 
where the guillotine claimed its thousands : 
Louis XVI., the first victim ; Marie Antoi- 
nette, the stately, heroic woman with gray 
hair, known to all history ; Charlotte Cor- 
day ; Brissot, chief of the Girondists ; and 
Princess Elizabeth Marie following. 

“ Dear me ! are those Smiths in Europe, 
John? Over there, Rockwell — the landau 
with the blue wheels, and a lady in laven- 
der and white lace. They made their mon- 
ey in whisky, yon know, a few years ago. 
Oh yes, new people.” This from Mrs. Pier- 
man, craning her neck to watch the unfort- 
unate victims of her criticism. 

I know them. One of the girls is jolly,” 
returned Rockwell. 

More jolly than lady-like, perhaps,” as- 
sented Mrs. Pierman, with a dry laugh of 
conscious superiority. 

Charming little Parc de Monceaux, with 
parterres of rainbow -hued flowers, and a 
veil of mist hanging over green lawns from 
threads of falling wnters. Once brilliant 
with fetes and balls, where the Duchesse de 
Chartres, mother of Louis Philippe, reigned 
in splendor of beauty and gorgeous cos- 
tumes ; now the playground of countless 
j)ale children, the resort of ladies who trifle 
away the afternoon with needle-work, not 
unmindful of the effect of their high-heeled 
slippers and silk stockings on passing man- 
kind. 

Clouds had vanished from Blanche Pier- 
man’s face long ere they reached the Grand 
Hotel. One had only to stretch out a hand 
to find friends ; her lover was beside her : 
she was very fortunate to have secured his 
attachment. Visions of a bridal veil and 
pearls, of beautiful dresses and embroider- 
ies belonging to the Parisian corheille de ma- 
nage, floated through her brain. 

Shall I engage a box at the Opera for to- 
morrow evening? You are so awfully prim 
not to go Sunday night, when it is the fash- 
ion here,” whispered Rockwell, pressing her 
hand as he assisted her out of the carriage. 

That will be delightful,” smiled Blanche, 
in return. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

ONE o’clock at the h5tel cluny. 

Early the following Monday morning a 
lady entered the Church of St. Germain 
I’Auxerrois with the slow step and medita- 
tive aspect peculiar to a tourist. Moreover, 
the red cover of Baedeker” peeped out 
from under her arm, that universal badge 
of the roaming tribes who regard each other 
with a half-friendly, half-cynical recognition 
on the high-roads of travel. How venera- 
ble the exterior, as if all the wars of race 
had beaten against the gray walls! How 
quaint the arched porch, towers, and gable, 
crowned with Angel of the Judgment,” and 
gilded frescoes about the portal — “Christ 
on the Cross,” “ Descent of the Holy Ghost,” 
and “Mount of Olives!” The interior was 
dark with heavy wood-work, and each win- 
dow gleamed like a jewel of surpassing rich- 
ness in the gloomy obscurity. 

Outside, the September sun, shining in an 
unclouded sky, touched, as if with a prism, 
these stained panes, making them glow, 
while shadowy darkness elsewhere filled 
the edifice. A young lady knelt in passion- 
ate absorption before a shrine of the Virgin ; 
a priest lighted the candles of an altar 
which twinkled like clustering stars ; a few 
old women, clad in shabby black, sat in con- 
templative attitude in the nave. These are 
the pathetic, often - tranquil forms which 
beautify Catholicism. Blessed is such a 
haven of rest as makes the religion of old 
age. 

The angels grouped about the cross, de- 
signed by Madame de Lamartine, seemed to 
hover in the south transept. The chapel 
where St. Denis was interred after martyr- 
dom was shrouded in blackest night ; a 
dim old church, with peaceful age seated in 
calm contemplation, and turbulent youth 
spending itself in supplication before the 
Virgin; a church with a history gained 
by scarred walls; in the Fourth Arron- 
dissement used as a mayor’s office, and in 
1831 stormed by a mob while mass was be- 
ing performed for the murdered Due de Ber- 
ri by the Bourbon family. Is this the sole 
interest of the hushed, still building ? 

Miss Nancy, for it was she, walked up the 
aisle, and paused. Hark ! a dull sound re- 
verberated through the place, awakening 
dreary echoes, succeeded by a musical chime 
of bells tinkling the half-hour, and a band 
of little acolytes, in red gowns and white 
surplices, moved toward the altar. Was it 
only the clang of a heavy door, or the ghost- 
ly echo, rendered fainter and fainter by 
lapsing years, of the great bell which gave 
the signal for St. Bartholomew’s, and tolled 
from the tovrer all through the awful night 
its funeral-peal ? Always to be remembered 
through the ages, old church of St. Germain 
I’Auxerrois, for the metal voice of thy bell ! 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


71 


Over yonder in the Louvre is the Apollo 
Gallery, most celebrated of pictured inte- 
riors, rich with gilding, bronze, fresco, tap- 
estries, marble, and cases of enamels and 
crystal, from whence Charles fired on his 
subjects with a carbine. We need not dis- 
believe that horror haunted his sleepless pil- 
low afterward, or that the shriveled, puny 
soul found its burden too great, even in this 
world. Miss Nancy glanced at the win- 
dows, wondering which one might be the 
monarch’s casement, with a little shudder, 
and emerged into the street once more. 

The charm of the fair metropolis was 
already full upon her. Every thing was 
admirable, beautiful, gay, and inspiriting. 
One disbelieved in storms and dull skies j 
perpetual sunshine belonged to Paris. Lon- 
don, vast and crowded with traffic, puts to 
shame many American cities for cleanli- 
ness; while the French capital is so far in 
advance of London, that the boulevards 
have the appearance of being scrubbed dai- 
ly. Just as Anglo-Saxon method in most 
aims is refined by the Gaul, so the huge 
watering-cart of London and New York, 
lumbering stupidly along, and gushing un- 
expectedly over pedestrians while making 
a track of mud between spaces of unslaked 
dust, is replaced in Paris by an artist in 
blouse, who transports a little pipe on 
wheels, sprinkling delicately and effectual- 
ly the widest thoroughfare, because he gives 
his whole mind to the occupation. 

Miss Nancy had journeyed from Boulogne 
to Paris after the memorable interview with 
Martha Dunne, and on that first journey 
on the Continent she had been completely 
worsted. After the leisurely and delight- 
ful English mode of seeking a ddp6t when 
disposed, and being stowed away by a mild 
and civil guard, she was here pent up in a 
stifling waiting-room with a crowd of other 
human beings, who regarded each other 
with the ferocity of wild animals, trampling 
upon one another in the frantic endeavor to 
escape through the reluctantly opened door, 
and scramble into the arrived train. Men 
pushed Miss Nancy aside, and took advan- 
tage of their own muscle to do so, to her in- 
expressible indignation. She came from a 
New World where women almost uncon- 
sciously take the best places, and she 
emerged so ingloriously from the tussle that 
the interior of a stuffy carriage was accord- 
ed her, with such distant views as windows 
wholly under the control of her neighbors 
afforded. 

^^Why do they not take a lesson from 
usf’ thought Miss Nancy, flushed and pant- 
ing, with a sense of angry humiliation at 
having been so buffeted. I should think 
it was time they learned some things. Thank 
goodness, Mrs. Sharpe is not here !” In op- 
pressive heat ; in the semi-obscurity neces- 
sary to shield a French lady’s dress from 


dust and sun on one side; in cramped in- 
action of attitude. Miss Nancy passed those 
weary hours, her only diversion the silent 
and persistent warfare waged over the op- 
posite window. 

Vis-a-vis sat a fair, ruddy Englishman and 
a fair, ruddy Prussian. The Englishman 
opened the window ; the Prussian closed it. 

Perhaps they will fight. I wonder if 
they ever do come to blows over windows 
here ?” thought Miss Nancy, in some trepi- 
dation. The space was so limited. 

The Englishman measured his opponent 
with his eye, and opened the window. The 
Prussian measured his opponent with his 
eye, and closed it again. No words were ex- 
changed. So like, and yet so antagonistic, 
will such petty battles as these be the only 
ones waged between the two races in the 
future ? Miss Nancy sighed. 

I believe the English are the only peo- 
ple who desire a breath of fresh air. I wish 
they would overrun and conquer the rest of 
Europe.” 

What a nightmare ride that was, in the 
middle seats ! A sombre expanse of brown 
landscape with stretches of salt-marsh, where 
the sea made up, was occasionally visible. 
Once she heard a little melody. Was it a 
dryad piping in a wilderness ? Gabriel Oak’s 
flute? The train paused, the little pipe 
trilled on, brisk, accurate, with a certain in- 
fectious gayety. The train moved, and the 
performer appeared, a peasant in blue frock, 
standing beside the wall playing on a straight 
reed instrument. Other peasants listened 
attentively; the guards smiled approval; 
even Miss Nancy appreciated the rhythm of 
the sprightly measure. 

Once in Paris, there was a night of reck- 
less extravagance spent at a hotel. Our 
school-marm sat long at her window, gazing 
out into a court where horses pranced, and 
opposite casements afforded her glimpses, 
like successive cabinet pictures, of polished 
corridor and velvet sofa screened by lace, or 
footmen lounging in gilded arm-chairs with 
knee-breeches of crimson satin, white-silk 
stockings, and buckled shoes, like the actors 
of old English comedy. Could these gor- 
geous creatures be only the servants of a 
club ? Next day she had sought a modest 
pension, whither Mrs. Sharpe would come 
later, and discovered a landlady who aspired 
smilingly to establish her reputation on 
American dishes, which would have made 
the hair of certain New England housewives 
rise on end with horror and dismay. 

Outside the Church of St. Germain, Miss 
Nancy paused and consulted her watch. 

I promised to meet him at one o’clock,” 
she said. 

The Seine flowed along beneath bridges, 
beside the magnificent pile of Louvre, a toy 
river, with little toy boats floating on its 
surface. A young noble was crossing the 


72 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


bridge from the old Faubourg Parisieu, care- 
fully well-dressed, yet fx^iet, refined, a cer- 
tain je ne sais qiioi about master, and unob- 
trusive equipage tbat marked him with dis- 
tinctive individuality. Will your own au- 
thors ever describe you, young noble, with 
the matchless grace and elegance of Lord 
Bulwer Lytton in his Parisians 

Cocoa- venders still carried their burnished 
cans hung with bells, and offered the bever- 
age to the thirsty. Laborers, brown, mea- 
gre, and dusty, still slept at noon in their 
wheelbarrows, with heavy sabots cast off, or 
in the shadow of a wall. A hlancMsseuse, 
with a cream-colored handkerchief crossed 
on her breast, knitted as she drove slowly 
along in her little cart. Miss Nancy won- 
dered if the gay capital, fresh and sparkling 
to her eyes in the September morning, could 
ever be associated with rain and cloud. The 
very crack of the Paris cochei^s whip is so em- 
inently characteristic — a thin, sharp, brisk 
flick of the lash, rapid rather than violent, 
and entirely without effect on his emaciated 
steed — the very ghost of a horse in more 
prosperous times. 

Our school-marm found herself in a sea of 
dangers, lured by the siren voices of French 
shop-women into whirlpools of extravagant 
purchase. She saw no such young person 
as the typical shop-girl at home — pert, tired, 
indifferent, her hair dressed in the latest 
fashion, her thoughts astray on last night’s 
ball, possibly. She pays dearly for the can- 
dle, poor young thing, in loss of bloom, head- 
ache, nervous irritability, all of which re- 
act on her employer’s customers. On the 
boulevards Miss Nancy encountered, per- 
haps, a stout, elderly shop-woman, in a cot- 
ton gown, with a white collar, the coarse- 
ness of her plain features alone relieved by 
a pleasant smile. Beware of the large hands 
that hover so deftly over her wares, the per- 
suasive inflection of her voice which wnuld 
beguile the last centime from a purchaser’s 
purse ; and yet there is just as much differ- 
ence between her adaptive grace and the 
fawning, wheedling tones of the Hebrew 
vender as between solid gold and the flashy, 
pinchbeck imitation. What caressing atten- 
tion in shops of glove and perfumery ! What 
dainty devices in ribbons and lace ! As the 
fair leader of fashion, Eugenie, has departed, 
the goddess set in a shrine for universal fem- 
inine worship, all cities make their own 
styles, and the result attained may be great- 
er independence. 

Thank Heaven ! a woman need not stake 
her immortal soul on a hat-brim turning up 
or down,” mused Nancy. 

She was like a child in fairy-land, her at- 
tention attracted by a dozen magnets at 
once. Here was a magazin Busse, with the 
proprietor, broad - featured and Calmuck, 
smiling in the door-way. What an ingen- 
ious people in invention of little articles of 


comfort, from the polished samovar to the 
tiny egg-shaped receptacle for roasting cof- 
fee by means of alcohol, and the brass cup, 
fitting within another cup, adapted to boil- 
ing water almost in one’s pocket! What 
Liliputian tea-pots, scarcely holding a sip of 
the delicate beverage, labeled in the win- 
dow at twenty rubles per pound. No oth- 
er European nation, save the Russians, know 
the full luxury of yellow overland tea. 
America is satisfied with coarsest dregs in 
comparison. 

Nancy laughed as she reflected on the con- 
solation of the cup that cheers ” to grand- 
mother in Briarbush. What must be the 
delight, in degree, of the Chinese old lady 
able to drink the decoction of scarcely dried 
blossoms, all the fragrant sweetness linger- 
ing! 

Here were bric-a-brac shops, vying with 
the windows of their neighbors in fascina- 
tion, whether heaped with soft, rainbow- 
hued fabric, or glittering with stars and 
wreaths of precious stones, clocks in carved 
ebony, enamels, pictures, Italian cabinets, 
and antique bronzes. Here was a revela- 
tion in art in the window of a patissiei* to 
Nancy, from Briarbush, hitherto confined 
within the narrow limits of cookies, dough- 
nuts, and home-made cake: brioche of del- 
icate complexion, little scrolls of plaisir, 
pufis of crisp brown texture, chocolate cas- 
tles, crystallized spheres containing snowy 
cream. The variety of delicacies seemed 
endless. 

I must taste one,” and Miss Nancy, mus- 
tering her French boldly, attacked a myste- 
rious meringue which melted deliciously on 
her palate with the most satisfactory results. 

Tapers burned about an altar of the Mad- 
eleine ; a carpet was spread down the steps 
for a bride, who approached the church, cu- 
riosity following her movements as in all 
lands. Middle-aged, composed, attired in 
black silk, her only bridal badge a white 
bonnet and an enormous bouquet, she chat- 
ted with her escort ; the bridal party follow- 
ed; and the groom, his years made jaunty 
by a becoming costume, as only a French- 
man’s may be, gave orders to his coachman 
below. Opposite extended the Rue Royale. 
A toy-merchant, obese and contented, stood 
beneath a canopy of balls in pink netted 
bags, dolls, and wagons. A little olive-skin- 
ned man had decorated the wall with photo- 
graphs, even gayly colored books of the siege, 
sold, with many shrugs and smiles, for two 
francs. 

The bride ascends the steps, the merchants 
sell their wares. Only the walls of the older 
houses have the aspect of hiding such se- 
crets as a time when Communists planted 
cannon, and mitrailleuses blocked the exit, 
sweeping the Place de la Concorde ; when 
frenzy culminated in storms of bulleta and 
shells, in flames fed by petroleum froni en- 


MISS NANCY’S PILGKIMAGE. 


73 


gines which should have quenched, in fall- 
ing roofs and crushed inmates. But that 
belongs to the past. 

Retracing her steps along the boulevard, 
Miss Nancy paused opposite the Grand Ho- 
tel, enchanted by madame the doll. Clum- 
sy effigy of rag, dragged by one foot around 
the nursery; sphinx-like wooden dolly, with 
staring eyes, a hard complexion, and angu- 
lar figure, pet and confidante of the neat lit- 
tle maiden with golden hair; insipid wax 
lady with tow ringlets, laid away for state 
occasions that your tinsel may not become 
tarnished by rude fingers, how would you 
hide your abashed faces and battered bodies 
in the presence of madame the doll ? We 
have no silly, inexperienced demoiselles 
here, if you please, but always madame, 
cool, assured, haughty, a queen of society, 
with well-deserved faith in her modiste. She 
plays on the piano in dinner toilet of purple- 
velvet jacket and blue silk ; she tries on a 
new glove, equipped for the promenade ; she 
emerges from the bath-house at Trouville in 
ravishing negliges; she toys with her gold 
eyeglass, ready for the Bois, and she is ev- 
erywhere a doll of the world, knowing per- 
fectly well what she is about. If one of the 
dowdy rag dollies should gaze in the window 
at her dainty trimmings, flowing trains, and 
crisp laces, the spirit of emulation would so 
imbue her that she would seek the same mo- 
diste, and do likewise, if father and husband 
dollies were ruined by the bills. 

Miss Nancy, how are you cried afresh 
young voice. 

Miss Nancy turned with a flush of pleas- 
ure to greet Blanche Pierman. The girl 
looked very pretty and happy. Certain 
gentlemen sipping absinthe outside the ad- 
jacent cafe soon favored her with their un- 
divided attention. 

I saw you from our windows at the ho- 
tel,” explained Blanche. Oh, yon need not 
attempt to run away, for I am going to take 
you back with me.” 

^^I have an engagement, my dear,” de- 
murred Miss Nancy. She was rejoiced to see 
her favorite once more ; but she would nev- 
er cross the threshold of Margaret Pierman 
again, after her conduct in London — un- 
less she should need me,” thought the once 
friend, standing on the wide boulevard sur- 
rounded by the full tide of noonday. 

^‘That is only an excuse,” pleaded Blanche, 
clinging to her arm. I am all alone this 
morning. Where are you going?” 

To the H6tel Cluny,” said Miss Nancy, 
with some hesitation. 

I love the dear old Cluny. Let me go 
with you ; unless you have other company,” 
added Blanche, quickly. 

“ I should like you to come, of all people ; 
if your mother — ” 

My mother has gone to Versailles with 
Mrs. Cocks. You can not get rid of me so 


easily, you perceive. Do let me go. Miss 
Hawse. I will be very good, and we can 
look in at Monroe’s to tell papa.” 

A curious expression flitted across Miss 
Nancy’s face, succeeded by one of subdued 
triumph. 

^^Come, then, by all means. I shall be 
only too glad of your company. The hour 
is one.” 

Why one o’clock ?” demanded Blanche. 

Oh, one is a good hour, and gives you 
plenty of time to enjoy every thing,” replied 
Miss Nancy, somewhat evasively. 

The companionship of Blanche did prove 
delightful. Had not her own gayety, which 
was that of one emancipated, absorbed her, 
the repressed excitement and constraint of 
Miss Nancy’s manner might have attracted 
her attention. Miss Nancy must go to the 
Bon Marche on Mondays — every one did. 
Had she done the Louvre ? Oh dear ! no- 
body went there much after the first Euro- 
pean journey. It was all very lovely ; but, 
then, one had so much else to do — shopping, 
and endless visiting. A recent English 
writer termed it that place of torment ” 
where one only went to see the people. 

^‘I consider such nonsense simply wick- 
ed,” said Miss Nancy, aroused to speech. 
‘‘If one ever becomes too hlasd to learn 
something from the beautiful in art, it is 
high time to die.” 

“Now you are going to scold; but I am 
determined not to be scolded,” said Blanche. 
“ Let us take our dejeuner in the garden, 
where ladies may come unescorted.” 

Blanche had spoken of Howard Denby 
and the Acis with a certain dignified frank- 
ness ; but Miss Nancy had parried the re- 
marks uneasily, and in turn had scarcely 
listened when Blanche spoke guardedly of 
the Cocks. She was thinking of a far more 
important matter. 

The girl, as cicerone, led the way to the 
little cafe in the Tuileries, where they sat 
beneath a striped awning, and discussed 
their cutlets and salads and rose-tinted ices. 
The broad alleys branching from the oran- 
geries were bordered with familiar asters, 
and dahlias, autumn’s livery in yellow and 
rich maroon hues. The Terrasse — once 
playground of the King of Rome, Comte de 
Paris, and the Prince Imperial — was now 
trodden by other feet. 

Blanche had removed her glove ; the sun 
smote sparks of light from the superb gem 
on her small finger. If Miss Nancy noticed 
it, she would tell her mighty secret then 
and there. But Miss Nancy had withdrawn 
her gaze from the shrubberies to furtively 
consult her watch. 

“Perhaps we had better go,” she said, 
rising with feigned leisurely aspect and in- 
ward trepidation. 

There is a spot in Paris where venerable 
trees shed a green twilight over mossy old 


74 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


gardens, ornamented witli quaint saints on 
pedestals, and Roman heads, and ivy — 
stanch companion of crumbling gray walls 
— droops from parapet and deserted case- 
ment. Within a stone’s - throw of quais, 
bridges, and boulevards, modern magnifi- 
cent Paris all around, stands this old dwell- 
ing, once residence of a Roman emperor in 
the days of Gaul’s conquest, once a cloister 
of Cluny monks, once home of the savant, 
M. du Sommerand. Traces there are of the 
first possession, in rough and massive ruins 
of thermce; traces of the second, in winding 
stairway, balcony, and chapel, lofty, and 
arched, with narrow altar and stained win- 
dow ; traces of the third, in the untold rich- 
es of a museum filled with the rarest gems 
and treasures. 

Miss Nancy and Blanche Pierman enter- 
ed the large gate, and glanced about them. 
At one angle of the court stood a gentleman 
smoking his cigar. The condei'ge advanced 
to inspect the new-comers, and prepared 
with dignity to exercise some of a nearly 
vanished authority in demanding a pass- 
port. 

^^I thought we no longer needed them 
over here,” said Miss Nancy, dismayed. 

Allow me to use a visiting-card instead,” 
said a voice behind the ladies. 

Blanche turned, and confronted Howard 
Denby. A deep flush of surprise or annoy- 
ance was the young man’s first token of 
recognition. The girl, far more composed, 
although with additional color, held out 
her hand. 

^^What a very great stranger you have 
become, Mr. Denby !” she said. 

A smile of satisfaction illumined Miss 
Nancy’s honest, tell-tale face, efiectually 
clearing away all doubts. She had agreed 
to meet Howard Denby at the Cluny, in the 
hope of bringing possible tidings of Blanche 
Pierman. How much beyond her dreams 
was it to produce the girl’s living presence, 
blooming, bright, and sweet ! Since the in- 
terview with Howard Denby at Brighton 
our traveler had been in constant corre- 
spondence with him, and, far from resenting 
the intrusion of her active interest, he re- 
sponded to it with animation. Ah, Howard 
Denby, did the little cameo treasured in 
your pocket have any thing to do with your 
correspondence with good Miss Nancy ? 
How was it that you found leisure to visit 
Paris, and meet the lady at the Cluny ? 

^^The exterior is very interesting, I be- 
lieve,” observed the school - marm ; and 
paused to gaze at the massive arch, the 
pinnacled wall ornamented with fine sculpt- 
ure, mullioned windows, open balustrade, 
and dormers with carved pediments. 

^^It is the very dearest old place,” said 
Blanche. ^^I always liken it to a large 
cabinet filled with curiosities and objects of 
art. Look at the spiral stairway yonder. 


Mr. Denby, and remember that Anne Boleyn, 
when a gay little maid of honor, aged four- 
teen, used to trip down to the garden where 
we see the artist copying the Roman arch 
at this moment, and the children in blue 
blouses at play.” 

Yes,” assented Howard Denby, and look- 
ed at Blanche instead with those searching, 
half-melancholy gray eyes that women like. 

The glance made her uncomfortable, shy, 
half doubtful of herself. It seemed as if he 
had only to command when he looked at 
one like that. 

As if I could ever do any thing for him !” 
thought Blanche, and stumbled on the step 
of a dark corridor. 

Mind the stones, little feet,” said How- 
ard, softly, and, laying his hand on her arm, 
looked down on her with a smile. 

Strange ! These were the very words of 
Rockwell Cocks yesterday. Perhaps every 
one would always treat her like a baby, 
though. Blanche hesitated, and glanced 
around ; the opportunity might never come 
again to speak with him. The corridor was 
very dark : courage might be gathered from 
this twilight obscurity. Miss Nancy stood 
in a large chamber in advance before a cab- 
inet of Florentine mosaic, supported on col- 
umns of lapis lazuli, and crowned by silver 
figures; while a coffer of wrought steel oc- 
cupied the centre of the polished floor, and 
ebony unfolded in leaves and flowers of rich 
workmanship in chairs and tables along the 
wall. 

Blanche looked up at her companion, sway- 
ed gently toward him, and said, in subdu- 
ed, slightly tremulous accents, You were 
naughty to run away like that — after the 
terrible night — and never speak to me 
again.” 

He was speaking to her now, a language 
of longing and tenderness in the gray eyes 
which she did not dare to meet. He stoop- 
ed over her suddenly, and the golden mus- 
tache touched her cheek. 

‘^My darling, I ran away because I was 
afraid to stay.” 

Playing with fire, indeed ! If any of the 
lounging guards had seen, with their ready 
French smile of drollery and amusement! 
If Miss Nancy had but turned back! An 
exquisite figure slept on an ivory couch on 
a level with Blanche’s head ; Mary Magda- 
lene, in rude, ancient relief, watched the 
door of the empty sepulchre on an adjacent 
bracket; the Virgin leaned from a crum- 
bling frame on the wall, bending in ago- 
nized grief over the dead Christ on her 
knees. 

Blanche darted forward and stood beside 
Miss Nancy, glad of the mellow light falling 
through stained glass, her cheek scorched 
by Howard Denby’s kiss. Why would he 
not understand her gratitude better ? How 
stupid men were ! 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


75 


The gold altar belonged to the Emperor 
Henry II. of Germany/’ she explained, with 
unnecessary eagerness. 

How delusive are catalogues !” assented 
Miss Nancy, turning the leaves of her hook. 
‘‘ I have chased this curious piece of work all 
through the volume.” 

There stood the altar of beaten gold guard- 
ed by Gothic doors — Christ made gigantic — 
by contrast with a humble little emperor and 
empress kneeling at his feet. 

How did it happen that Howard Denby 
had come to the rescue so easily and unob- 
trusively, claiming Miss Nancy’s undivided 
attention for cases of Venetian glass, bubbles 
flecked with gilt and imprisoned in slender 
stems, boxes of silver and shell that moved 
her to wildest envy, illuminated manuscripts 
that put to shame the most patient indus- 
try of modern times ? Blanche could steal a 
glUnce at him, thus left to herself, and not 
detest him so intensely for his boldness. 
What a success he would be in society, with 
that fair complexion and straight profile! 
How well he carried himself, with a certain 
distinction which can not be assumed with 
a man’s coat ! Having given her a little 
time to recover composure, he contrived to 
whisper, 

I really beg your pardon, Blanche ; but 
she did not see us.” 

Blanche opened her eyes widely, her viv- 
id color faded. Here was a worse dilem- 
ma: Howard Denby’s tone had the half- 
playful meaning of one who has a confidence 
already established. He Avas whispering in 
her ear, as if they were lovers. 

I think I should go home,” said the girl, 
helplessly ; but neither of her companions 
noticed the remark. 

Beautiful old Cluny, how alluring you ap- 
peared just then, when young feet should 
choose another way than your winding cor- 
ridors ! Faded tapestry hung on the walls ; 
vestments heavy with embroidery claimed 
attention for once distinguished wearers ; a 
sedan-chair was placed by the door; St. Den- 
is, in alabaster, revealed stiff little kiugs 
lying in state on miniature tombs ; and in a 
case were a pair of small slippers — Princess 
de Lamballe’s pathetic, faded little shoes! 
The story goes that one of her kinsmen ran 
after the headless body in the mob, and res- 
cued these from the dead feet, to be cher- 
ished as souvenirs of the beautiful woman. 
Blanche followed mechanically past the se- 
dan-chair out into the inclosed space de- 
voted to famous equipages. 

‘‘ You are tired,” suggested Howard, gen- 
tly. 

No,” said Blanche, feeling unaccounta- 
bly disposed to cry. 

Miss Nancy smiled again to herself. No 
barrier should spring up between these two 
that she could remove. In her own youth 
discord had been sown with a laAush hand. 


and had borne its bitter harvest of suffering. 
John’s child must not mourn as she had 
done, if she could avert it ; and Miss Nancy 
felt profound confidence in her own skill and 
diplomacy as she prepared to see the state 
coaches of the H6tel Cluny. She would be 
Howard’s advocate with Dr. Pierman ; she 
would even nerve herself to encounter Mrs. 
Pierman for such a result. Surely they must 
see that this youth and maiden were born to 
make each other happy. 

A sleigh, in form a richly gilded drag- 
on, with carbuncle eyes, blue pendant about 
the neck, and little seat of blue satin, met 
Miss Nancy’s delighted eyes. Never had our 
school-marm, in the quiet seclusion of her 
New England home, dreamed of such mag- 
nificence. State coaches, with white reins 
embroidered in gold ; satin-lined interiors ; 
springs that rock with cradle-motion ; steps 
lowered for royal feet like a succession of 
drawers ; and boxes gorgeous with imposing 
crests. Here a pope was drawn by six steeds 
abreast, footmen perched behind, and the 
Borghese arms emblazoned on the carriage. 
Here the French embassador at the court of 
St. James’s swayed along in the reign of Louis 
Xy. Pity that the wheels of royalty eA^er 
came off in the ruts of prosperity’s road. 
Powdered heads seem still to recline against 
the satin cushions, haughty glances to bend 
condescendingly earthward and rest on the 
canaille. The sleigh-bells jingle, and merry 
young Queen Marie Antoinette glides over 
the ice, a Ausion of loveliness, drawn by her 
golden dragon. Never was more fatal em- 
blem of a reign than this ice surface, the 
crystal raft between her and the black, sul- 
len waters; and yet she passes on, proud 
Maria Teresa’s daughter, a meteor, all brill- 
iant scintillations, a part of the day’s splen- 
dor as well, lips smiling that will lose the 
power of smiling by -and -by, and bright 
eyes undimmed by the tears in store when 
the crystal raft shall have melted, and she 
be left a prey to the ingulfing flood. 

^^Now we must see the chamber of La 
Eeine Blanche,” said Miss Nancy, consult- 
ing her catalogue. 

‘^Here she is !” said Howard Denby, in so 
blithe a tone that Blanche recovered some 
measure of her good spirits. 

Upstairs the polished floor extended from 
one room to another in long vistas, dark 
ceilings, and walls enriched with carving 
and stained glass. The queen’s chamber was 
small, and like the interior of a box; heavy 
beams meeting an elaborate high chimney- 
piece, walls deeply wainscoted, and some 
faint, intangible perfume of memory lin- 
gering about it still. A state bed, with 
hangings of rich red damask, formed the 
sole point of glowing eolor; dim, ghostly 
pictures hung in corners ; a spinet, incrust- 
ed with ivory Venetian work of the four- 
teenth century, and a harp, stood in the back- 


76 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


ground. Caskets there were of surpassing 
richness, and a case of musical instruments 
— fairy pocket violins, inlaid with pearl, sil- 
ver, and ebony, of Louis XIII.’s day ; each 
having yielded sweetness to dead fingers in 
its little tunes. Beyond were the arches of 
the small chapel, where the wraith of the 
fair widow may still linger. 

Grand in their hospitality, the abbots 
placed their house at the disposal of the 
kings of France. Mary Tudor, handsome 
daughter of the house of York, here mourn- 
ed for her elderly spouse, Louis XII., robed 
in white, after royal custom, with tapers 
lighted. 

Anne Boleyn was transferred to the court 
of Queen Claude, when La Reine Blanche 
cast aside her weeds and secretly married 
the English duke, her early love, in the 
small chapel,” said Miss Nancy, in her school- 
mistress tone. 

The two young people had turned toward 
the chapel, and did not even listen. Miss 
Nancy walked in the opposite direction, with 
an expression of such Reaming satisfaction 
and shrewd intelligence, that the next guard 
removed his cocked hat in anticipation of 
a question rendered in the best Briarbush 
French. She rambled on, until she found 
dishes and enamels ranged against the 
walls, with old Venetian mirrors set deep 
in brass frames behind ; porcelain with the 
iridescence, of a conch-shell, or yellow and 
blue in' huge urns ; and vases with saints 
limned in the centre. She had leisure to 
study the chimney-piece of painted stone 
from Mans, and its curious three ages of 
man, so that conversation in the chapel was 
not interrupted. 

At last she found Palissy, the potter, a man 
reverenced by the minister, who wrought in 
pain and sorrow, chilled by winter storms, 
disheartened by poverty and scoffing in- 
credulity, yet with high courage holding 
this one desperate, tenacious resolve in life, 
and heaping household furniture on the fur- 
nace for fuel. 

Father used to say, There was a man !” 
Would that the world paid ten times the 
gold coin of appreciation in posterity, Ber- 
nard Palissy, in recognition of labor such as 
thine ! Through the darkness and the storm 
you toiled, unswerving in moments of bit- 
terest need. Let us set your light on the 
hill, humble artist in clays, that 

“Some forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again.” 

« 

Here Palissy spread cool green leaves and 
sedgy tangles of weed, with delicate scallop- 
shells caught in their meshes ; or the spec- 
tator peeped into the depths of a brook 
where the fish were about to leap and quiv- 
er ; their sides of inimitable metallic lustre, 
eels writhed, and cray-fish scaled the brim. 
Miss Nancy almost longed to touch the work 


of the great Huguenot master, marveling 
at its reality; and in it she beheld, not sim- 
ply a dish of unique design, but the Bernard 
Palissy of history. 

Still rambling on, she found La Chambre 
Verte deserted, and sunk into a carved arm- 
chair to meditate. What a field for fancj^ 
did these moldy hangings of Genoese velvet, 
these frayed cushions and fauteuils unfold ! 
Harpsichords, once melodious to the ear of 
Mar^chal Antoine, Coiffier Ruze, Marquis 
d’Effiat, whose chateau was so carefully j)re- 
served from the date of its erection until 
1856, guarding treasures of other genera- 
tions zealously, and its decorations of the 
early days of its century! The year 1856 
opened the casket, scattered the relics broad- 
cast at public sale, and of the marquis and 
his unfortunate son. Cinq Mars, remain only 
such fragments as the Cluny has gathered 
to its bosom. The shapes of the dead must 
revisit these dim apartments at midnight 
if ever floors echo to ghostly tread — monks, 
kings, warriors, artists, and the etherealized 
semblance of sorrowful Queen Anne in the 
flower of childhood. 

In the chapel, Howard Denby had taken 
both of Blanche Pierman’s hands, and was 
striving to catch a glimpse of her averted 
face. 

I will not hurt you, but you shall listen 
to me,” he was saying, almost fiercely. ‘‘ It 
is no light matter for a man to come to lov- 
ing a woman as I love you. Yes, I love you, 
Blanche, sweet, darling Blanche, and you 
shall hear it. DidnT you know when you 
sent the little cameo ? Ah, how good of 
you to remember me ! No, no ; the guards 
are not looking, dear.” 

You must hear me,” gasped Blanche, pale 
and distressed, and still avoiding his gaze. 

I have something to tell you.” 

There was a moment’s pause, then he re- 
leased her hands suddenly, and inquired, in 
a gloomy tone. 

Well, what have you to tell me ? Let 
me know the worst.” 

It was her turn to regard him now. The 
girl came accordingly close to his side, and 
took one of his hands between her own lit- 
tle palms. 

“ I am grateful for what you did for me. 
I would show my interest if I could. I can 
not tell how this has all occurred, and there 
is some dreadful mistake.” 

The light fell through the narrow win- 
dow, pallid and white, showing the faint 
lineaments of Virgin and martyrs on the up- 
per panes, showing Blanche Pierman below, 
grown more womanly, tremulous, almost ap- 
pealing, as she looked up at him. 

It is all a mistake ; for I am already en- 
gaged to Rockwell Cocks.” 

To Rockwell Cocks ? Then curse him !” 

Miss Nancy sat in the old arm-chair med- 
itating, her thoughts astray on the couple 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


77 


in the chapel, on 4he articles of value in 
this Chambre Verte. 

Mais, madame, madame ! C’est la chaise 
de Dagobert !” 

The warning voices spoke, hissed through 
adjacent rooms; the footsteps of idle guards 
resounded like hounds coming to the chase. 
She sprung up from the venerable seat, 
which groaned threateningly when released 
from her weight, and fled in confusion. 

What had she done f Tested the feeble 
back and paralytic legs of a historical chair. 
Heavens! if it had broken beneath her, 
should she have been given over to the ten- 
der mercies of a police most brusque to for- 
eigners in these days ? 

The tiny chapel was very dark and still. 
Had they gone out into the garden, down 
the winding stair of the little maid, Annie 
Boleyn ? No ; Blanche Pierman sat on the 
stone bench : she was alone. 

‘‘My dear, what is the matter?” 

Mrs. Pierman’s daughter was not weeping. 
She sat with her hands lying listlessly in 
her lap, and with the aspect of one who has 
been stunned by an unexpected blow. 

“ Nothing.” Her voice was dry and calm. 

“ Where is Howard Denby ?” inquired Miss 
Nancy, in alarm. 

“He has gone away. Tell me, did you 
bring me here to meet him ?” 

Miss Nancy considered ; her eye fell. 

“I certainly thought it might give you 
both pleasure.” 

“ Oh, he will never forgive us for this. 
Miss Hawse! Never! never! And it might 
have been all prevented. Why did you not 
tell him the truth ?” 

“ The truth, my darling,” repeated the old- 
er woman, feeling as if the ground were giv- 
ing way beneath her feet. 

“Yes, yes: that I am already engaged,” 
fretfully. 

“ Because I did not know it.” 

“I have tried to tell you all day. You 
would not even see my ring,” with a little 
laugh. 

“Engaged to marry another man, when 
Howard Denby loves you ! I am disappoint- 
ed, Blanche ; and I must say it — you are a 
frivolous, wicked girl to have tampered with 
his noblest affections solely to gratify your 
own vanity.” Miss Nancy spoke with ener- 
gy akin to anger. “ Some time you will be 
sorry.” 

“I am nothing of the sort,” retorted 
Blanche, with spirit. 

They drove homeward along the Boule- 
vard St. Michel, silent, excited, and mutually 
unhappy. Presently Miss Nancy inquired, 
with stiff dignity, 

“Do you intend to marry the young man 
Cocks?” 

“:Yes.” 

Blanche winced. For some indefinable 
cai^je Rockwell did not appear so great a 


match in Miss Nancy’s presence as elsewhere. 
Suddenly the girl bounded on the seat, the 
pupils of her eyes contracted. 

The gentleman in question stood beside 
the open door of a superb carriage, talking 
with the inmate, a small, fat woman, no 
longer young, with an outre hat on one side 
of her head. ^ 

“And he never even saw me,” murmured 
the fiancee^ in her fair young beauty. 

“ Blanche, forgive me if I spoke unkindly. 

I had no right to be angry ; and I wished to 
see you two happy. I am only a foolish old 
woman, my dear, who makes sad blunders 
with really good intentions,” said Miss Nan- 
cy, with humility. 

“ No, no ; you are always kind,” protested 
Blanche, with a sob. “ Tell him I was not 
to blame ; promise to tell him that.” 

Not trusting herself for further speech, 
she pressed Miss Nancy’s hand, and, enter- 
ing the hotel, disappeared. Very much 
crest-fallen. Miss Nancy took her way to her 
pension in discouraged loneliness and silence. 
The joyous spring-time which she would fain 
have sheltered aftef the lesson of her own 
experience, had only received a double blow 
from her interference. 

The clock struck eight on the chimney- 
piece of a salon in the Grand H6tel. Dr. Pier- 
man was dining out. Mrs. Pierman sat in 
her arm-chair, the model of elegance, smooth- 
ing reflectively one of her cream - colored 
gloves. 

“Patience, my dear; Rockwell has been 
detained, and will be here soon,” she said. 

Blanche was moving about the room rest- 
lessly, and paused with her eyes fixed on the 
clock-dial. A French artist has painted a 
figure not unlike her in that attitude of 
waiting. The wax-candles shed a soft radi- 
ance over her rose-pink dress and bare shoul- 
ders, the marguerites starred with diamond 
dewdrops in her hair ; a soft wrap of fleecy 
white silk and fur on a chair. 

“ Why does he not come !” she exclaimed, 
impatiently, tapping her rounded arm with 
her lace fan. 

“Tut, tut!” replied her mother, soothing- 
ly. “Mathilde really surpassed herself in 
that corset waist.” 

“ What does it matter ?” sighed Blanche, 
wearily. 

She had told her mother nothing of the 
afternoon’s adventure. Mrs. Pierman would 
fret, and fretting is the most tiresome phase 
of scolding. Howard Denby’s words still 
rang in her ears ; the little chapel, so dark 
and cold, had become animate with the pas- 
sion of his wooing voice, persuasive, mellow, 
and tender. She longed to escape from re- 
membrance of the painful scene in the diver- 
sions of the Opera and the hilarious merri- 
ment of her betrothed. He had told her that 
her voice reached him in Mulcher’s Hotel, 
and her little gift of the cameo seemed a ray 


78 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


of hope in a time of miserable loneliness and 
dejection. This touched Blanche’s more gen- 
erous sensibilities ; her eyes filled as she look- 
ed at the clock striking eight, nine, ten, with 
expectant half-hours, and no Rockwell Cocks 
came. 

Blanche would have sent to his mother’s 
rooms in the hotel; but Mrs. Pierman pre- 
vented. 

No ; let him find us,” she said, with dig- 
nity. 

The Nouvel Op^ra was crowded ; delicate 
dresses filled the golden boxes beneath the 
chandeliers of myriad jets, or flowed out into 
the foyer and balcony ; steps went and came 
on the superb marble stairways with their 
carved balustrades and statues, but Blanche 
Pierman’s rose -clad form was not among 
them. Music rose and fell on the ear in 
sweetest harmonies ; the ballet gathered in 
j)rismatic grottoes, grouped, hovered, and 
separated like softly falling petals of varie- 
gated blossoms ; and Rockwell Cocks did not 
survey them through his lorgnette. 

I hope no accident has happened,” said 
Mrs. Pierman, withdrawing her gloves at 
half-past ten. 

She was singularly patient in this trying 
ordeal ; but, then, the culprit was Rockwell 
Cocks. Blanche sat with her face buried 
in her hands. She was heart-sick of every 
thing in the sudden transition of disappoint- 
ment. 

There, there, go to bed, child ; and don’t 
tell your father until this is explained.” 

Mrs. Pierman kissed and left her ; Blanche 
went to bed soberly, mechanically. Miss 
Nancy’s words reverted to her mind — 
Some time you will be sorry for what you 
have done.” What had she done? Oh, 
how much more attractive to contemplate 
was Howard Denby’s noble, handsome face 
than the round, fat countenance of Rock- 
well Cocks ! 

The Paris night brought to her wakeful 
ear all those sharp sounds peculiar to a peo- 
ple who never seem to sleep : bursts of wild 
song, and the almost perpetual roll of car- 
riage- w^heels, succeeded by swish of laborers’ 
brooms at three o’clock, the clatter of wood- 
en sadots on the pavement, and shrill nasal 
songs. Labor met revelry face to face in 
the dawn. 

Over on the other bank of the river stood 
the old H6tel Cluny, ivy -grown and still, 
day putting to flight its ghosts, as it brought 
slumber to weary, unrefreshed eyelids. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

IN THE DOME OF THE PANTHEON. 

Rockwell Cocks awakened at twelve 
o’clock the next morning to a realization of 
the situation, and his mood was far from be- 


ing an enviable one. His head was heavy, 
his eyes suffused, his lips dry, and he had 
a very confused recollection of the means 
whereby he had reached his hotel. Unfort- 
unately, after the night’s dissipation comes 
always the calm, pure, avenging morning. 
The stings of conscience would not afflict 
heavily the man of fashion, Rockwell Cocks, 
who was used to late hours ; and he minded 
not a bit the reproving tones of that fond 
and indulgent guardian, his mother. Here 
was a new phase in the situation, however, 
and his first waking thought was resent- 
ment at the curb put upon his pleasures. 
Mrs. Pierman might frown, and her husband 
take him to task, for any thing he cared. 
If a man might not enjoy himself in Paris, 
where would he choose a field? But the 
sweet, reproachful image of Blanche he 
dared not contemplate, and in this remorse 
he hated her, longed to push her out of his 
path by any means. He had promised to 
take her to the Opera, and had broken the 
engagement to dine and sup with a great 
actress. 

Confound the witch! I believe she 
kept me on purpose to make mischief,” he 
muttered, visions of the celebrated hostess 
standing on the table at three o’clock in the 
morning, and singing a song, wine-glass in 
hand, rising before his bewildered brain. 

I told her that she would make her fort- 
une over again in America, and so she 
will.” 

The hours had been merry, the company 
gay, the wine very potent, and the siren 
was one of those developments of modern 
opera loiiffe whose celebrity for audacity, 
success, and sparkling wickedness makes it 
an honor for a young man to be added to 
her train of admirers. Yes, she was old and 
small and undeniably fat, but princes ap- 
plauded her most reckless wink, and Rock- 
well Cocks could not fail to be flattered by 
an invitation to dine with her. She had 
carried him off in that superb carriage 
Blanche saw so invitingly opened ; had aft- 
erward alternately startled and amused him 
by her sprightly conversation ; had detain- 
ed him willfully, capriciously, perhaps to 
punish a grand duke among her slaves, un- 
til the hour for opera was long past, and it 
was too late to apologize even to Blanche 
for his neglect. 

All for a fat little woman, passe and worn, 
who cared not a pin whether he went or 
came, and would toss him out like a flower 
beneath her carriage-wheels when his useful- 
ness was spent ; in this very careless inso- 
lence a fascination — a creature, apart Rom 
her reputation for wealth and having planted 
her satin slipper on the neck of the world, 
to whom homage could no longer be paid on 
other score than matronly charms, if even 
these existed. The fellows at home would 
consider it a ^‘big thing” to have thus 


MISS NANCV’S 

danced attendance on the siren ; seen her in 
her own hotel, where gold had been lavish- 
ed in decorations ; beheld her spring on her 
own table, as nimble and graceful as at six- 
teen, and stand amidst a debris of broken 
china and glass to sing her droll song. It 
would be something to laugh over with his 
mother, always his confidante, and the tol- 
erant judge of misdemeanors, only for this 
teasing little goad of duty unfulfilled to 
Blanche. 

Doubly spicy and piquant the sin of steal- 
ing hours away in naughty company, when 
he should have been listening to Mrs. Pier- 
raan^s tiresome urbanity in an opera -box. 
Doubly irksome Blanche's little silken fet- 
ter of bondage, that it meant restraint in 
the future, a curb on his own selfish indul- 
gence. 

wish I had never got into the boat at 
all,^^ he said, savagely, and looked at him- 
self in the glass. 

Yes, the night had brutalized him. The 
reflected face was coarser, lowering, as if a 
heavy hand had passed over it, blurring any 
of the finer lines which might have belong- 
ed to childhood. The mouth sneered back 
at him. 

All the same, I wish I had not slighted 
the little girl ! I look devilish seedy, and no 
mistake, like one of those drunken satyrs 
in Eome. Pshaw ! I am not a sentimental 
school-girl. I must write her some fib.'^ 

But the fibs did not please him. Several 
were written and torn up, while he partook 
of that beverage mentioned by the Young 
Lady on shipboard, brandy -and -soda. He 
ordered an exquisite basket of flowers, stated 
he would call on his dearest girl at four 
o’clock, and played with his breakfast, some- 
what restored to good -humor. A message 
from his mother reminded him of a promise 
to take her up to the Pantheon dome that 
day. Kockwell groaned, and lighted his ci- 
gar. 

Here goes for lecture number one !” 

But his mother did not lecture him as she 
kissed him. She had heard of his non-ap- 
pearance the previous evening, and had 
apologized for him in advance. In her 
weakness, she dreaded to lose her hold on 
his confidence, and this only son was all she 
possessed in the world. 

If Mrs. Cocks had scolded instead of kiss- 
ing Rockwell that morning, it might have 
made a difference with his whole after-life. 
She only looked at him, and was silent. 
She was amiable, and disliked disputes. 
Perhaps he would tell her where he had 
been, if she were tolerant and accessible. 
In ten minutes he had done so, not without 
humor, and Mrs. Cocks concealed her horror 
— if she felt any — unaware that her son 
found in her a contrast to the rule of all 
womankind. 

Help me out of the scrape, like a good 


PILGRIMAGE. 79 

soul,” he petitioned, patting the soft roll of 
white hair above his mother’s face. 

^^I am sure that she will forgive you,” 
said Mrs. Cocks, incautiously. 

Then they started for the Pantheon in 
harmonious mood, the lady glad to have her 
boy all to herself, and prepared to drop cau- 
tious hints, like good seed by the way, con- 
cerning actresses and Paris life, worded 
carefully not to offend him. 

At twelve o’clock, another young man, who 
had been rambling about the city for hours, 
stood before the great cameo in the Bibli- 
oth6que Nationale. He had passed in list- 
less mood the old and gloomy building, 
former palace of Cardinal Mazarin, j)ower- 
ful minister of Louis XIII. and Louis XIV., 
now vaunting a better fame in its books, 
which would cover sixteen miles in a line, 
and paused at the door of the Cabinet des 
Medailles et Antiques. 

Here was the sardonyx, largest in the 
world, nearly a foot in diameter, and reveal- 
ing the apotheosis of Augustus, the figures 
of ^neas, Julius Caesar, Drusus, Tiberius, 
Li via, Germanicus, Agrippina, and Caligu- 
la, beautifully designed. The young man 
studied the contents of the cases so long, and 
in such motionless silence, that he seemed 
profoundly interested: in reality, he saw 
nothing. He would have scorned to reveal 
the workings of his own mind, the emotions 
of his own soul, with Indian stoicism. He 
was pale, a trifle worn about the eyes, but in 
outward aspect perfectly calm. He forced 
himself to go about, finding a certain refuge 
from self in motion. 

When he had quit Blanche Pierman in the 
chapel of the Cluny yesterday, after that 
outburst of passion in which he had cursed 
his successful rival, he was shaken with un- 
governable rage from head to foot. He had 
rushed down the stairway without a thought 
of Anne Boleyn, and out into the garden, mad- 
dened with himself and the world under the 
unexpected blow of Blanche’s refusal. Pre- 
sumptuous fool that he was, to suppose mat- 
ters could ever be otherwise ! How had he 
been led on from vague aspiring to foolish 
hope, by the kindly sympathy, eloquently 
suggestive of those things which he did not 
dare to breathe in his own inner ear, of silly 
Miss Nancy Hawse. 

“ To be wroth with one we love 
Doth work like madness in the brain.” 

He cast Blanche to the winds — a toy, a 
pretty baby — in haughty contempt of her 
choice ; and in his heart, oven at that black 
moment, he did not blame her. She had 
done nothing but follow the creed of her 
school ; she was the fragile reed bowing to 
wind of circumstances. 

A boy in the garden drew back instinct- 
ively, and looked up at him with the frown- 
ing, intent scrutiny of precocious childhood. 


80 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


Tho artist, sketcliiog the Roman arcb, suf- 
fered liis pencil to remain idle while stud- 
ying him. These circumstances, trifling 
enough, recalled him ; the fashion of his 
face must have changed, become disfigured. 
If he had been a woman, he would have 
prayed, Let me die He was a man, and 
no thought of rash self-destruction occurred 
to him. A first impulse was to stop and 
drain one of those absinthe glasses, thus 
drowning misery ; a second, to flee out into 
the country away from it all. Howard 
D’enby always turned away from his own 
kind in moments of trouble. The instinct 
may have been inherited from his sensitive 
mother, who had hidden, turned aside shrink- 
ing, from even casual glances so many years. 

Checking both inclinations, he had chosen 
a sheltered nook of the Luxembourg garden, 
and every thing around him became a dream 
— music, the neighboring palace, the groups 
of towns -people out with their offspring. 
You will see nowhere such self-absorbed, 
lonely figures as are to be found in a city 
park. Howard Denby was one of these, as 
he sat there turning the matter over in his 
mind. Of all the trials he had encountered, 
and he fancied them mountainous afflictions, 
this one was the most insupportable and 
crushing. He had never loved before. He 
was scarcely aware of how Blanche Pierman 
had crept into his heart, and imbued his 
whole nature, until he had met Miss Nancy, 
and received the tiny gift from her hands. 
Some exalted hope had swept through him 
that night in the rigging, as if the tempest 
had touched vibrating harp-strings, that he 
was the destined protector in life and death 
of the fair creature clinging to him. 

That was all over ; and Rockwell Cocks 
had won what he should miss all his life. 
He had cursed his former friend to her face, 
like a brute ; and of that ebullition he was 
ashamed. 

A man touched him on the shoulder j he 
glanced up indifferently. The sun was gone, 
the breeze cool, the gates about to close. He 
went out into the crowd with a sense of cold 
loneliness upon him, and the conviction that 
his dead mother alone would understand him 
in his miserable need. Why had he come 
here at all ? The rebuff wounded his pride 
intensely, as well as the conviction that he 
had played the fool. Just as Howard could 
not behold himself through the medium of 
Blanche's eyes in the shrewd yet pensive 
criticism with which she had measured him, 
so Blanche could not appreciate, from the 
barren poverty of his previous life, what a 
presence she became, idealized by his newly 
kindled fancy. La Reine Blanche visited 
his dreams that night, haunting the dim 
chamber in trailing white robes, and reced- 
ing before him beneath the narrow window 
of the chapel with the altar ever between 
them. 


In the morning he had gone to Miss Nan- 
cy’s pension^ then turned away from the 
door, ashamed of the weakness of seeking 
her sympathy. That evening he would 
cross again to England, and take up his bur- 
den of work once more. 

Having forced himself to study the cameo, 
he made a circuit of the rooms. The cup of 
Chosroes I., composed of medallions in rock- 
crystal, and colored glass framed in gold, 
glittered in the light ; the silver disk known 
as the “ Bouclier de Scipion,” with reliefs 
representing the restoration of Briseis to 
Achilles by the messengers of Agamemnon, 
lured him to read its label, which revealed 
that it was found in the Rhone, near Avi- 
gnon, in 1658. Here were curious historical 
portraits on medals. Marie de’ Medici, with 
ruff inclosing her throat like a wheel ; Anne 
of Austria, and her little boy, Louis XIV. ; 
cardinals, popes, warriors, and heroes, all 
ranged in neat cases entirely without refer- 
ence to their personal dislikes while living. 
A gold diadem from an Athenian tomb ; an 
ivory vase mounted in silver, with a cavalry 
battle on the side ; the agate cup of the 
Ptolemies tracing the mysteries of Ceres 
and Bacchus ; a sword of a knight of Mal- 
ta ; images from the Temple of Mercury at 
Canetium, discovered near Berthonville, all 
claimed his attention. Antique intagli of the 
most exquisite work, from minute specimens 
where a tiny Flora led her train of maidens, 
to larger, bolder carvings of richest hues, 
vied with the cameos clouded like soft mist, 
or black as night with pale forms drifting 
across the surface. 

^^I should like that one,” thought How- 
ard, with a half smile. 

The Apollo, lithe, slender, delicate-limbed, 
bent his bow with more than mortal aim, and 
the arrow sped to the mark. There was no 
supine weakness here, no droop in discour- 
aged inaction ; even the fragile form so per- 
fectly outlined against an amber background 
was instinct with the purpose and power of 
a god. 

Howard Denby went away thoughtfully. 
Over here a man might spend his life in col- 
lecting intagli and medals — fascinating pur- 
suit. So one is given the axe wherewith to 
hew a way in the virgin forest ; to another 
the engraver’s tool in the shop of his fore- 
fathers. His footsteps led him across the 
river once more. He surveyed the H6tel 
Cluny standing amidst its trees, without 
nearer approach,* he again seated himself 
in the Luxembourg garden. 

The cheerful activity of morning was all 
about him. This time his eyes did not seek 
the ground, and the Pantheon rose above 
him, its massive parapet and dome dwarfing 
all surrounding structures. 

^^I believe that I will climb uji there,” 
said Howard Denby, also moving toward 
the goal. 


MISS NANCY’S PILGKIMAGE. 


81 


At twelve o’clock, Miss Nancy, also in 
sombre mood after tbe events of the pre- 
ceding day, stood in the Luxembourg gal- 
leries. 

She had waited until that hour in hopes 
of seeing Howard Denby, but he had not 
called; and she also had escaped out-of- 
doors from her own unpleasant thoughts. 
Of the trio who had played at cross -pur- 
poses in the Hotel Cluuy yesterday, perhaps 
Miss Naucy was the most crest-fallen, be- 
cause the total collapse of her own self-con- 
fidence had been so complete and humilia- 
ting. She was responsible for having foster- 
ed the young man’s hopes, and for having 
been blinded by her own preference to the 
other interests of Blanche Pierman. She 
had led him on to commit himself when the 
mortification of rejection was so unneces- 
sary. 

If you could ever learn to mind your own 
business, Nancy Hawes,” she soliloquized, 
and called herself very hard names all the 
evening. 

The scent of box came through the open 
windows from the garden, where Howard 
Denby had sat all the previous afternoon, 
and was now sitting, had she but known it ; 
the great Medici fountain glistened in the 
sunbeams, which converted bronze to gold, 
at the head of the broad alley. Through a 
grated gate and glass partition was visible 
the grand stairway of the palace where Jo- 
sephine Beauharnais suffered imprisonment, 
Dautou and Robespierre were held captives, 
and Rubens, in 1621, designed the series of 
large pictures in the Louvre — most gorgeous 
idealization of the career of a bad woman, 
Marie de’ Medici — afterward finished in Ant- 
werp with the aid of his pui^ils. French 
art in all its beauty was before her and 
around her. 

Diana stepped forth with ivory limbs of 
those delicate hues which seem to ethereal- 
ize and refine the mere perfection of flesh, 
and held aloft a moon in the black heavens ; 
Abd-el-Kader’s fine face looked out from 
white burnous draperies with serious dig- 
nity ; in Giraud’s dance at the Grenada Po- 
sada, the girl’s yellow-satin dress shimmer- 
ed with a soft sheen, her dark eyes flashed, 
the tinkle of castanets was almost audible. 
Priests stood in silent contemplation of 
saints, absorbed in ecstasy of devotion. A 
Christ of benign and sweet aspect received 
the Judas kiss, surrounded by mysterious 
darkness. 

Two pictures greeted Miss Nancy like old 
familiar friends. Wood-cuts of them, framed 
in straw and pine-cones, hung on the wall 
of the best parlor at home in Briarbush : 
Muller’s Reign of Terror ” in original force 
9 ;nd power, despair ranging over the whole 
field of human expression, from the beauti- 
ful woman who starts up electrified at the 
mention of her name on the dreaded roll, to 
6 


the resignation on the wrinkled, delicate 
face, like the heads painted on the Sevres 
X)orcelain, of the old marquise who, with 
folded hands, gazes beyond the life seem- 
ingly so full of promise to her companions ; 
and Virginia cast upon the shore, limp, 
drowned, the great green wave sweeping in 
already creaming over in a feathery crest of 
foam to claim her once more. 

A little old man was copying the Pandora 
in the corner, and stepped back to survey 
his very perfect reproduction critically just 
as Miss Nancy approached. 

Pandora, young and innocent, with soft- 
ly hovering rainbow wings, and a faint ra- 
diance shed from above on her fair head, 
holding her unopened casket, walked a new 
world peopled with dim shapes. 

A cow on ice is supposed to be a peculiar- 
ly ludicrous object. Shade of Mr. Winkle, 
strapped in skates, and launched on the 
pond, terrified by the vagaries of your own 
extremities ! could the helplessness of man 
or quadruped exceed that of Miss Nancy 
on the waxed floor of the Luxembourg gal- 
leries, which extended in long avenues of 
glassy surface, with an occasional grateful 
island of marble or oasis of rug intervening ? 
Once she hr 1 essayed to admire a fresco, and 
had caught a railing only in time to prevent 
her measuring her length on the floor ; twice 
had she slidden gracefully on her knees on 
the very brink of a vase worth its weight in 
gold. These alarms made her nervous, flush- 
ed, anxious ; she adopted a crab-like move- 
ment by holding her feet together, and scuf- 
fled slowly from room to room. 

The little old man drew back to inspect 
his finished work, when Miss Nancy, with 
surprising skill, swooped over, caught her 
dress on the easel, and came to the ground, 
with the Pandora reposing on top of her in 
a swift and awful ruin of color-box, brush- 
es, and canvas. What need to describe the 
confusion, dismay, and burning shame of 
our traveler, or the rage of the little old 
man, who hopi)ed about in transports of 
demonstrative Gallic wrath as she sat on 
the floor, Pandora’s fresh and lively color- 
ing transferred, for the most part, to her own 
gown ? They came from the east and from 
the west, from dark door- ways, through the 
very floor perhaps, in swarms — these mouth- 
ing foreigners — to gaze at her, artists, fel- 
low-tourists, and guards. In all the cruel 
mob, who regarded her as of some strange, 
barbaric species, there was only one Samar- 
itan, a lady artist with certain preraphael- 
ite tendencies in her costume, and her hair 
dressed in a gentlemanly style. 

^‘You did not intend to do it, did you?” 
she said, assisting Miss Nancy to her feet, 
and wiping some of Pandora’s complexion 
from her dress with a painting-rag. 

The language of the spheres must be En- 
glish. Never did that tongue sound so mel- 


82 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


liflaous to dazed and bewildered senses as 
when it fell on Miss Nancy’s ear. 

Oh, I am so sorry, and the picture is 
ruined ! Would you mind telling him ?” 
with a deprecating glance at the fiery lit- 
tle old man. I supiiose it would do no 
good to put me in prison, or whip me as I 
deserve for my clumsiness.” 

It was mortifying the flesh indeed to en- 
dure longer that battery of curious staring, 
but she forced herself to take the little man’s 
card, to inquire the price of Pandora meekly. 

If I could only buy it ! Two thousand 
francs — I dare not spend so much money,” 
she sighed, and escaped from the scene of 
her disgrace as speedily as possible. 

The Pantheon rose before her, vast, cool, 
a temple where the Convention wrote over 
the portico, ^^Aux grands hommes la patrie 
reconnaissante and sculptured St. Gene- 
vieve implores Attila, the Hun, to spare the 
good city of Paris below. Mirabeau once 
slept beneath this marble pavement. Marat 
was placed here after his murder by Char- 
lotte Corday, and then thrown into the 
sewer of the Rue Montmartre. The reliqu- 
ary borne by bronze angels over the side 
altar had a sprinkling of wmrshipers at this 
hour. 

^‘I wonder if I shall be afraid to go up 
alone,” said Miss Nancy, and laughed at 
such cowardice, for her ticket had been ac- 
cepted, and the door had clanged after her 
entrance. 

She would like to climb to some height, 
and survey her late folly at her leisure. 
Did a traveler ever skate into a picture be- 
fore? she wondered. The last strain of 
fatigue may be imposed on weary muscle 
by the ascent to the Pantheon dome. Miss 
Nancy felt an indolent desire to seat herself 
on the parapet, sufi^ciently lofty for an ex- 
tensive view, and sternly conquered such ir- 
resolution by dashing up the next flight 
which scaled the outside of the dome with- 
out pausing for breath, or to change her 
mind. The interior was very dark and 
still, with odd corners and half- concealed 
iron doors in the angles of the wall. 

No sound of voices broke the silence. 
Was she alone in the great place? Who 
would come up next ? Her heart beat very 
loud with rapid movement j she seated her- 
self on the stair to rest. 

In the mean while Mrs. Cocks, with lei- 
surely effort, had climbed to the ball, pant- 
ing a little on the last steps, and assisted by 
her son. 

‘‘Three more, and here you are!” cried 
Rockwell, with recovered gayety ; and, as he 
appeared on the last landing, he came face 
to face with Howard Denby. 

“Halloo, Denby, old fellow! how are 
you ?” he exclaimed. 

Howard Denby recoiled, and grasped his 
cana more tightly in his hand. The im- 


pulse to strike the broad, smiling face be- 
fore him was almost irresistible. Just then 
Mrs. Cocks’s head appeared, her cheeks suf- 
fused, and two ready little hands extended. 

“ You dear boy ! so glad to see you,” she 
panted. 

“I suppose you must have rained down 
from the moon last,” added Rockwell, care- 
lessly. 

He was fairly caught, must smile, and 
chat with the man he hated above all oth- 
er human creatures, in the presence of the 
amiable, unconscious mother. Some per- 
sons are always amiable, because they im- 
agine the universe was made for them, and 
all others of their kind must minister to 
their wants, the poor young man reflected, 
in blackest mood, and then came a strange 
reaction of feeling. Rockwell was jocose, 
friendly, also unconscious of his deadly en- 
mity. Was Rockwell to blame for having 
thwarted him in ignorance of his love for 
Blanche Pierman? He chafed under Mrs. 
Cocks’s pleasant conversation; Rockwell’s 
vicinity made him uncomfortable. If the 
depths of his own soul were suddenly re- 
vealed to these companions, they would 
start back amazed at the shapes haunting 
that gulf. The perplexing doubt would as- 
sail him, like a thorn -prick, that Blanche 
preferred Rockwell; but could he have won 
her for himself, if left without a rival ? 

“ How nice it is to have the place all to 
ourselves !” said Mrs. Cocks, in her purring 
voice. 

Paris was spread before them, bearing a 
droll resemblance to those towns of blocks 
which children build into squares, with pa- 
per trees between. It was also like a vast 
system revealed w^here the generous arteries 
are visible beneath the daylight, and the 
narrow, dark veins, productive of disease, 
wind among the poisonous, decaying streets 
of the old quarter, celebrated for violence. 

Miss Nancy Hawse suddenly appeared, 
flushed and breathing rapidly, her dress 
showing curious stains of yellow and pink 
which might have been imparted by paint. 
Her color w^as not lessened by discovering 
the occupants of the dome. At the sight 
of Mrs. Cocks the interview in the Langham 
Hotel, when she restored Tommy Pierman 
to his family, rose painfully, vividly, before 
her mind. How^ard Denby would not more 
gladly have put the entire length of Paris 
between the Cockses and himself than would 
Miss Nancy at that moment. Was she to 
explain to the great lady, once Miss Baga- 
telle, that she had just upset a picture, to 
the ruin of her gown and the defacement 
of the work of art ? Never! She returned 
Mrs. Cocks’s affable greeting with a forced 
smile, and was very stiff to Mrs. Cocks’s son ; 
then turned, with a sense of relief, to How- 
ard Denby. 

“ Come and dine with us to-night, Denby, 


MISS NANCY’S 

and I will show you the lious afterward/’ 
said Kockwell. 

‘‘ Thank you ; I cross to Dover this even- 
ing/’ replied Howard, hastily. 

‘‘I suppose you will never he my boy 
again,” said Mrs. Cocks, half wistfully. 

At least, you can drive with ns an hour, 
and we will drop you at your hotel in ample 
time for the train.” 

Miss Nancy heard this proposal with 
growing alarm. Good heavens! these two 
young men were rivals, and she had made 
them so. If they met, and quarreled, the 
result would he on her conscience. At the 
risk of being intrusive, she must keep them 
apart. 

Pardon me, but I Hope you have not for- 
gotten your promise to visit Pbre la Chaise 
with me,” she interposed, anxiously. 

Poor Miss Nancy had taken every one’s 
burden on herself. She was aware that 
Mrs. Cocks regarded her qnestiouingly, al- 
most suspiciously ; that ready fun lighted 
up Eockwell’s small, twinkliug eyes. 

What did they think of her ? She cared 
nothing for Pbre la Chaise. Perhaps they 
imagined that she had fallen in love with 
Howard Denby herself. 

The young man thus contested for smiled 
brightly, and the clouds cleared from his 
face. 

I will go where you are good enough to 
take me,” he said, gratefully, to Mrs. Cocks ; 

and Miss Hawse will allow me to call on 
her afterward, perhaps.” 

He looked at her re-assuringly as he spoke, 
but Miss Nancy was scarcely satisfied with 
the result. When Mrs. Cocks invited her to 
join the party, thus combining Howard’s 
two engagements in one, she submitted to 
the martyrdom for the result to be attained. 
Again did Rockwell Cocks devote himself 
with airy sang-froid to the school-marm ; he 
insisted upon entertaining her personally, 
and becoming her escort in the cemetery, 
while his mother won more and more on 
Howard Denby’s savage humor, softening 
his wrath almost to remorse by her gentle- 
ness. This time Rockwell was quits with 
Miss Nancy. He had gained Blanche in the 
race when on board the Ads she had stood 
in his way, proud of her own cleverness in 
foiling him. 

When Mrs. Cocks bid Miss Nancy farewell 
at her pension door, Howard Denby joined 
her. She had dropped a little card on the 
pavement, which he restored. The card bore 
the name of the copyist of Pandora : M. An- 
toine Hoschede, 14 Rue St. Georges. 

^‘I should have been sorry to lose this 
card,” she said. ^‘Perhaps if I look steadily 
at it, my wish may come to pass, and another 
time I will give you the story.” 

‘^If there ever is another time,” retorted 
Howard, soberly. ‘‘Well, I must go back 
again to duty. Miss Hawse, they have agreed 


PILGRIMAGE. 83 

to take up my work in England. That is a 
step in the right direction.” 

“God speed you, then!” returned Miss 
Nancy, with tears gathering in her eyes as 
she held his hand in parting. “ Try to think 
as charitably of me as possible : I meant it 
all for the best. You are not to blame her, 
my dear. Those were her last words.” 

“ I blame neither of you,” he said, husk- 

iiy- 

“I would mend matters if I could. Rely 
on me for that,” she added, as he turned 
away. 

The pain in his face followed her, troubled 
her beyond measure, and she could do abso- 
lutely nothing. 

There was a heap of luggage on the land- 
ing. Mrs. Sharpe laid her hands on Miss 
Nancy’s shoulders, and kissed her heartily. 

“ I am right glad to see you again. Paris 
is a pretty place.” 

This was the nearest approach to praise 
the lady had yet bestowed on Europe. 

At four o’clock Blanche Pierman looked 
out of the hotel window, her heart beating 
nervously, her hands cold. She had been 
very willful and perverse all day, refusing 
to eat, to go out-of-doors, scarcely glancing 
at the basket of flowers sent by her recreant 
lover. Mrs. Pierman was patient and in- 
dulgent. She smoothed away all difficulties 
with her husband, and petted Blanche, her 
own mood cheerful and encouraging. A 
young man might meet friends unexpected- 
ly, as Rockwell said, and find it impossible 
to break away from them. The proof that 
the slight was not premeditated was that he 
had written no excuse in advance. Blanche 
had listened in silence. One could not di- 
vine what was passing in the girl’s brain. 
At last she had suffered the maid to dress 
her in a color becoming her present pallor, 
and stood by the window listlessly gazing 
down on the boulevard. 

A young man passing in an open carriage, 
his portmanteau beside him, glanced at her 
window as if by intuition, caught her smile 
of recognition, and was gone. 

Four o’clock, and Rockwell Cocks stood 
opposite, talking with a group of young men, 
glancing up and down the street, yawning 
occasionally and laughing. 

“He does not care,” thought Blanche, 
proudly. 

Presently he consulted his watch, nodded 
to his acquaintances, and crossed the street. 
The blood rushed to the girl’s tem^des and 
forehead. With one glance around the salon^ 
she ran into her own room and locked the 
door. 

“ I will not see him !” she cried, and her 
mother found her lying again on the sofa, 
her pretty toilet disarranged, and her hair 
hanging in disheveled masses over her face. 

More was involved in this letting -down 
of her hair than Blanche imagined, or any of 


84 


MISS NANCY'S PILGRIMAGE. 


them could divine. Despite Mrs. Pierman's 
smooth excuses; Rockwell Cocks went away 
offended. The attempt to please his lady- 
love was becoming very irksome indeed. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE STEANGE ADVENTUEES OF A WHITE 
HOESE. 

In the first place, the carriage was dusty 
and dilapidated; and the cocJier had but one 
eye, which may have blinded him to the de- 
fects of his steed ; for certainly these disad- 
vantages, apparent in a casual inspection, 
were as nothing to the gradual revelations 
concerning that horse. For a quarter of a 
mile chronic lameness seemed confined to 
the right fore foot, when the limp was ab- 
ruptly transferred to both hind feet. His 
thigh-bones became painful facts, visible 
above the rim of dash-board, like the ser- 
rated peaks of a mountain range ; his spec- 
tral flanks seemed unnaturally elongated in 
the darkness of night, as if fasting during 
the siege had become habitual afterward; 
and, far in advance, a sharp and battered 
head jerked spasmodically on a lean neck, 
as if about to separate from the sorry body, 
with the tremulous motion of a toy donkey 
on wheels. But we anticipate, to use the 
conventional formula of novelists. 

Mrs. Sharpe stood on the curbstone at ten 
o’clock with a shawl over her arm. Verily 
the subtle fluid of Parisian activity must 
have already infused her veins, for she had 
traveled from Calais that day, and, instead 
of going to bed like a sober-minded, elderly 
Christian, had taken a nap in her chair, and 
proposed briskly to see the city by gas-light 
before retiring. 

Will this carriage do ?” inquired Mr. Vi- 
dal, dubiously. 

‘‘Of course it will do,” replied his moth- 
er-in-law, “if all the double ones are en- 
gaged. You just drive ahead, Richard, and 
we will follow. Where is Miss Hawse ?” 

Miss Hawse, thus claimed somewhat im- 
patiently, appeared hastily on the pave- 
ment, and announced herself ready for the 
expedition. The cause of her delay, if the 
whole truth must be told, was, as usual, in- 
terest in the affairs of her neighbors. On 
her way down-stairs she had discovered that 
the eondei'ge was relaxing the onerous duties 
of his office by a dinner party in his little 
room, given to a select number of ladies and 
gentlemen of the neighboring shops. Sa- 
vory odors still lingered about the small 
fire visible through the open door beyond ; 
the concierge was claiming the attention of 
his male guests for a parting glass of choice 
wine, while the ladies had already retired to 
that favorite drawing-room of the Paris 
workwoman — the sidewalk. 


Much has been said about this tyrant, the 
concierge^ and his exercise of petty authority 
in a post of power which has spoiled him. 
Accused of subserviency to monsieur le haron, 
au pi'emier etage; bullying madame, au se- 
conder if her perquisites are not satisfactory ; 
assuming a menacing attitude to the whole 
household if the New-year’s is not consider- 
ed sufficiently remunerative, the concierge is 
the landlord’s prime minister, and not whol- 
ly above the corruption of bribery. 

Miss Nancy was glad to see him enjoying 
the company of his friends. He was to her 
observation a pale, slender man, omnipres- 
ent, whether in blue apron, of a morning, 
waxing floors and brushing steps, or appear- 
ing at the great door during all hours of 
night, when late pleasure - seekers chose to 
arouse him. 

“ Richard will go in advance, and we can 
follow,” said Mrs. Sharpe. “You do not 
mind an old white horse at night, I hope ?” 

“ Oh dear, no,” returned Miss Nancy, reck- 
lessly ; “ I should not care if we went in a 
wheelbarrow. Nobody will notice us, I am 
sure.” 

“ Besides, we shall only take a turn on the 
boulevards, you know. It seems wicked to 
sleep on such a night as this,” Mrs. Sharpe 
supplemented, with considerable animation. 

Then the white horse started at the rate 
of locomotion previously alluded to, with 
limp and halt and occasional rattlings in 
his harness of most ominous sound. 

“ This seems to be quite a wonderful beast. 
I only hope he will not tumble all to pieces 
before we get him home again,” the elder 
lady remarked, apprehensively, and put on 
her spectacles. 

Mr. and Mrs. Vidal, in a better conveyance, 
wdth a green lamp glimmering like a fire-fly 
in advance, occasionally called the attention 
of the others to passing objects. 

Miss Nancy laughed. It was droll to hear 
Mrs. Sharpe make the same comment on the 
night which she had done in her impulsive 
maidenhood on the old porch at Briarbush, 
where grandmother’s roses bloomed so many 
years ago. She had declared that it was 
wicked to sleep through such nights, as she 
came into the house, closing the door with 
emphasis which merged in a slam. This 
evening was not unlike the other one, very 
warm, balmy, clear, with the full moon il- 
luminating the city roofs and the tree-tops. 
Like, and yet what a difference ! 

The village had slept, white and still, in 
the embrace of the hills. Nature’s mantle of 
repose infolding all her children ; the rocky 
crags had caught a halo of glory from the 
moonshine ; a fleet of thin clouds had float- 
ed across the heavens like an argosy of wish- 
es. So many, many years ago ! 

St. Roch was visible in the darkness of 
narrow streets, with its broad flight of steps 
where Napoleon I. planted cannon to drive 


MISS NANCY’S 

back the Royalists. Tbe Palais Royale glit- 
tered witli garlands of gas-jets. Tbe Tui- 
leries became a classical ruin touched by tbe 
■wand of night, shattered, sad, and desolate, 
yet with all defects veiled in obscurity. The 
Place de la Concorde -was one wide expanse 
of lights like frosted silver. A star shot 
across the sky and faded. There sat the 
stone sisterhood of cities, bathed in the 
mellow radiance, where the Prussian troops 
had bivouacked, where the Communist fren- 
zy had raged, and where now Mrs. Sharpe 
and Nancy were drawn by the white horse. 

Well, it is a pretty place!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Sharpe from time to time, and her pleasure 
occasionally took the form of short laughs, 
succeeded by intervals of quiet when her 
spectacles twinkled observantly in the moon- 
light. Beyond lay that realm of summer 
enchantment, the Champs Elys6es. The 
cafes cJiantants seen through the trees resem- 
bled the palaces of The Arabian Nights,” 
domes, pillars, and the very walls gleaming 
with tinted fire, and connected like the links 
of a chain, spanning intervening darkness 
with garlands, arrows, and arches of globes 
among the shrubbery. What multitudes of 
pleasure - seekers were gathered along this 
space, seated about the cafeSy or moving like 
restless shadows ! 

Now a singer’s voice claimed supremacy; 
again an orchestra drowned the hum of con- 
versation; or the clash of glass chimes 
sprinkled the air with crisp and not unme- 
lodious sounds. 

Oh, what is that ?” cried Mrs. Sharpe. 

A shaft of intense radiance suddenly 
changed semi - darkness to noonday ; the 
Are de I’^toile rose above them in massive 
grandeur, each sculptured bass-relief visible; 
farther down, the Genius of France in bronze 
upheld the dying soldier; the Palais d’ln- 
dustrie caught the unwonted glare on every 
prism of its glass ; all the tinted globes grew 
dim, fading to a sickly yellow hue in the 
bluish pallor of the more powerful illumina- 
tion. Only a trick of effect, the movement 
of a calcium - light which streamed across 
space, the trees and shrubs seeming to shriv- 
el and turn gray ; the fountains, blanched to 
feathery mist ; increasing, dazzling, dimin- 
ishing, and then vanishing as suddenly as it 
came. 

Miss Nancy stood up in the carriage. 

What has become of Mr. Vidal ? I don’t 
see the green lamp anywhere,” she said. 

Ask the driver,” insisted Mrs. Sharpe, so 
quickly that Miss Nancy’s tongue refused 
its office. Haste acted on her linguistic fac- 
ulties like a cork thrust into a bottle. 

Mrs. Sharpe poked the cocker in the back. 
Thus assailed, he reined in the white horse, 
and, revolving slowly on the box, brought 
his one eye to bear on his fare. 

No, no, don’t stop, or we shall lose them,” 
said Mrs. Sharpe, impatiently, and effectu- 


PILGRIMAGE. 85 

ally drowning Miss Nancy’s first effort at 
speech. 

What do you wish, ladies?” inquired the 
driver, stolidly. 

The white horse had settled on one side 
at an alarming angle, as if with the inten- 
tion of lying do wn, or at least taking a nap, 
on the spot. 

Where is the other carriage ?” inquired 
Miss Nancy, hurriedly. 

There it is, madame,” pointing with his 
whip. 

Well, drive fast, if you please.” 

am afraid in such a crowd of car- 
riages that we may lose them,” observed 
Mrs. Sharpe. However, Richard knows 
where to go.” 

The driver also knows ; he can recognize 
the other vehicle better than we can. Was 
not Mrs. Vidal’s hat white straw, with a 
long white feather ?” inquired Miss Nancy. 

Yes — a cavalier hat.” 

Then she is directly in front of ns,” said 
Miss Nancy, re-assuringly. ^‘Look at the 
Arch from this side, Mrs. Sharpe.” 

Ye-es ; but what makes him go so fast?” 

Why, the other carriage is going faster, 
and he knows our anxiety to keep together,” 
returned Miss Nancy, calmly. 

The driver had indeed whipped the white 
horse unmercifully, and was going beyond 
the Arch at a considerably increased rate of 
speed; the other carriage was rolling swift- 
ly and smoothly in advance, with Mrs. Vi- 
dal’s snowy feather as a guide. Thus spur- 
red on, the white steed behaved in the most 
extraordinary manner, now bounding in the 
air, now breaking into an absurd canter like 
a hobby-horse, now shaking the harness 
menacingly, as if about to cast it off alto- 
gether. 

It seems cruel to goad on the poor ani- 
mal. I wonder where they are going ? If 
we could get sufficiently near, I would ask 
Mrs. Vidal.” This from Miss Nancy, again 
standing up in the carriage to survey the 
situation. 

Cocker she implored. 

Driver!” from Mrs. Sharpe. 

Thus appealed to a second time, the driv- 
er reined up, and revolved slowly on the 
box. 

Que voulez-vous, mesdames ?” 

The white horse settled on one side im- 
mediately, as if glad that the recent jest of 
rapid locomotion was over. 

Perhaps he thinks us a little cracked,” 
suggested Mrs. Sharpe, sotto voce. 

Miss Nancy burst into irrepressible laugh- 
ter. 

Don’t be silly !” urged her companion ; 
especially as I can not speak one word of 
French.” 

Driver, where are you going ?” 

The driver’s shoulders went ui3 over his 
ears in a ready shrug. 


86 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


Really, madame, I don’t know,” point- 
ing to tke carriage in advance, protesting- 

ly- 

But — ” began Miss Nancy. 

Don’t stand still, for mercy’s sake ! We 
are losing sight of them already,” interposed 
Mrs. Sharpe. 

The energy of her pantomimic gestures 
needed no translation. 

Again the driver thrashed the white horse, 
and again the white horse plunged mad- 
ly forward. It was no time for inactive 
parleying. Mrs. Vidal’s feather had almost 
ceased to be a guide, and neither herself 
nor her husband manifested the slightest 
interest in their unfortunate companions. 

Really, this is inconsiderate. Richard 
knew that we only put up with this shabby 
concern for a little turn on the boulevards. 
We seem to be going out of town altogether. 
Miss Hawse, you have been here longer than 
I have — where are we going ?” 

I am sure I don’t know. Perhaps Mr. 
Vidal wishes to see the fortifications — by 
moonlight,” ventured Miss Nancy, in per- 
plexity. 

^^I have always heard that young things 
lose their heads in Paris,” said Mrs. Sharpe, 
becoming snappish. ^‘Do try and hail 
them ; beg them to stop.” 

Thus urged. Miss Nancy for the third 
time stood up in the carriage, and sighted 
the white feather. 

Mr. Vidal— 1—” 

The only effect of this signal of distress 
was to make the white horse stop as if 
smitten by enchantment, and the driver to 
revolve on bis box for further orders. Mr. 
Vidal evidently did intend to see the forti- 
fications by moonlight ; nay, more, the forti- 
fications were already left behind with the 
music, the gay crowds, the illuminated thor- 
oughfares, and that gigantic portal, the Arc 
de I’Etoile, while before them lay a broad, 
fine road and the more shadowy expanse of 
suburbs sheltered in clustering foliage. 

We might stop here, and all go to sleep 
until they return,” said Mrs. Sharpe, with 
grim humor. 

^‘They may drive around another way,” 
demurred Miss Nancy. 

Go on, then,” said Mrs. Sbarpe, with the 
resignation of despair. 

We could not return home alone ?” said 
Miss Nanoy. 

No ; Richard said he would manage this 
trip. Let him.” 

The calmness of Mrs. Sharpe’s manner 
while uttering these words boded ill for her 
son-in-law in the future. The driver here 
became aroused to lively animation of speech 
and gesture ; he poured a volley of rapid ex- 
planations at the ladies, which they did not 
in the least understand, and concluded by 
gathering up the reins, and ui-ging the white 
horse once more to speed. 


^‘I thought you spoke French,” observed 
Mrs. Sharpe, with cutting sarcasm. 

He talks so fast ; and I think he has been 
drinking,” said Miss Nancy. 

‘^That is a pleasant suggestion out here 
in the country! We may be murdered, and 
Richard would not care — racing ahead like 
that. Perhaps he thinks it a good joke.” 

Richard was undoubtedly racing ahead. 
The poor white horse ambled after, and the 
tranquillity of open country was succeeding 
the noise of the metropolis, the air still sweet 
with summer flowers, the full moonlight 
shining on the landscape. Beautiful, balmy, 
and still, the warm evening lured all creat- 
ures out-of-doors. Carriages passed the la- 
dies, sometimes with red lamps, and again 
with green. They scrutinized the occupants 
eagerly and in vain. 

‘^I should fear that we had made some 
mistake, if it were not for Emma’s hat. I 
know that anywhere,” said Mrs. Sharpe. 

This looks like a nice retired spot for high- 
waymen, or a Communist out of business.” 

They were in the Bois de Boulogne now, 
as Miss Nancy pointed out to her companion, 
who expressed a preference to see the place 
by daylight. The little lakes spread pure 
and silvery surfaces on which the moon- 
beams rippled ; laughter floated across from 
the islands. 

Thank goodness, they have stopped!” 
exclaimed Miss Nancy, a prey to manifold 
anxieties in leaving the city behind. 

Cocher, allez plus vite, je vous prie.” 

The first carriage had stopped on the brink 
of the lake. Mr. Vidal removed his hat to 
permit the air to fan his brow ; Mrs. Vidal, 
gaziug at the water, warbled a gay little 
song. The white horse, with a ludicrous ef- 
fort at style imparted by the driver’s whip, 
drew up beside the other carriage at last. 

Mr. Vidal !” from Miss Nancy. 

^‘Oh, Richard, what made you lead our 
spectral steed such a dance?” from Mrs. 
Sharpe. 

A chilling inattention on the part of the 
pursued ones was manifested. Mrs. Vidal 
continued her song almost insolently; Mr. 
Vidal inquired, thickly. 

What d’yer want, go-o-d people ?” 

Perhaps the first thing noticed by Miss 
Nancy was the coat-tail of the other driver: 
the appendage was studded with glittering 
buttons, and depended gracefully from the 
back of the box after the manner of private 
liveries. Mrs. Sharpe and Miss Nancy looked 
at each other. They had followed the ivrong 
ean'iage ! 

The lady with the white feather wore the 
cavalier hat far more on one side of her head 
than did Emma Vidal ; her face was haggard 
and old, despite its rouge, even in the soften- 
ing moonlight ; there was a sparkle of gems 
about her throat and bare wrists; but she 
was graceful in her scarcely rei^ressed amuse- 


MISS NANCY'S PILGRIMAGE. 


87 


meiit at tlie disconcerted faces of the two 
pursuers. 

“N'importe, mesdames," she said, gra- 
ciously. 

O Lord V’ gasped Mrs. Sharpe, and be- 
came awfully rigid in her corner of the car- 
riage. 

^‘What d' yer want, old la -a- dies?" re- 
peated the gentleman. 

The moonlight fell full on the features of 
Rockwell Cocks, flushed with wine, and his 
eyes wandering without recognition over 
Miss Nancy. Horrible, sickening revelation ! 
She was stricken dumb ; the very gates of 
Hades seemed to open before her astonish- 
ed eyes, underlying this gay, beautiful city. 
Rockwell Cocks driving out with a frouzy, 
rouged old woman, and engaged to Blanche 
Pierman ! 

She could count the hours since he had 
been to P^re la Chaise with his gentle, ami- 
able mother and Howard Denby. O that 
poor mother, who believed in him ! O sim- 
ple-minded, trustful Blanche, with his ring 
on her finger! Before she could recov- 
er herself, the other carriage had rolled on 
and disappeared, and their driver had de- 
scended to the ground to inspect the white 
horse, which showed alarming symptoms of 
entire dismemberment. The driver said that 
he was told to follow this carriage, and as 
his blind eye had been toward the vehicle, ar- 
gument was useless. He now threw out dis- 
couraging suggestions respecting the amount 
of speed left in the white horse, and grum- 
blingly protested that he had not been en- 
gaged with reference to making the tour of 
the Bois that evening, after the fatigues of a 
fete day. 

Let the white horse crawl back within 
city limits, if possible^ and then we can dis- 
miss this carriage, and choose a better one).” 
said Miss Nancy, soothingly. 

Have you a purse, then ?” inquired Mrs. 
Sharpe. 

Why, no ; I—” 

Exactly ; I invited you out, and Richard 
has all the money.” Mrs. Sharpe said this 
with the peculiar satisfaction one feels when 
eonvinced that matters can not possibly be 
worse. 

The cocker remounted the box, and turned 
the white horse toward the city once more. 
Ample leisure there was for reflection as to 
the cause of Mr. Vidal's disappearance, am- 
ple ground for conjecture as to the proba- 
bilities of ever getting back to the pension 
by this means. The white horse was hav- 
ing matters his own way at last, and so far 
from cruel goading, the cocker held the reins 
loosely, and even appeared to doze on the 
box. The drive was becoming lonely. Ev- 
ery vehicle passed our travelers, leaving them 
only the more apprehensive and nervous for 
the desertion. Sometimes the white horse 
cocked one ear, and they became hopeful 


that visions of stable would arouse him from 
the lethargy' into which he was sinking, 
when his head would again droop despond- 
ingly, and the promontories of bones become 
startlingly apparent, divided by a central 
ridge of spine. 

I suppose you knew the woman we over- 
took,” said Mrs. Sharpe, after an interval of 
gloomy silence. 

I recognized the young man,” returned 
Miss Nancy, with some hesitation. 

That creature was acting in Londun, and 
we went — to improve Emma's French. I 
never was ashamed of being a woman, and 
an old one too, before that night. Bless 
you, the theatre was crowded to witness 
her vulgarities, because she was a little 
worse than all the rest ; but I came away, I 
can tell you. I only wonder this Paris is 
not destroyed, like another Sodom and Go- 
morrah, with brimstone.” 

You are sure this one was the same act- 
ress,” said Miss Nancy, solemnly, after a 
pause. 

Sure ! I know her painted face by this 
time. You will see her photograph in every 
shop, dressed like a page, or a queen.” 

The wheels creaked in slow revolutions, 
the white horse paused more than once and 
sniffed the breeze languidly, as if disposed 
to roll in the grass and emancipate himself 
wholly from the trammels of duty ; he also 
coughed in a consumptive fashion. Mrs. 
Sharpe nudged her companion, and pointed 
to the cockefi' nodding wearily on the box. 

Perhaps he is not asleep,” she whisper- 
ed, meaningly. 

‘^Poor thing! he seems to be,” said Miss 
Nancy, als©^ regarding him with fresh inter- 
est. 

^He may have got us out here on pur- 
pose,” hinted Mrs. Sharpe, darkly. 

Miss Nancy jumped, and peered at the 
trees. 

“He may have accomplices waiting for 
a signal,” continued Mrs. Sharpe. “Who 
would ever know what became of us, two 
unprotected women ?” 

Mr. Vidal had approached the Arc de 
I’Etoile at the moment when the calcium- 
light produced that weird illumination, and, 
directing his cocker to drive around the 
structure, was returning on the other side, 
when his wife exclaimed, 

“Why, where is the white horse, Rich- 
ard ?” 

“ Eh ? Following us, of course.” 

But no white horse was following them ; 
instead, more brown and black horses than 
the city of Paris could have been expected 
to muster in procession. There was a white 
animal half-way down the Champs ]Slys6es, 
and Mr. Vidal was disposed to be merry 
over being outstripped by the “walking 
skeleton,” as he termed it, until they over- 
took the equipage near the Place de la Con- 


88 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


corde, wLicli proved to be occupied by two 
gentlemen, who were in consequence dis- 
posed to take the most lively interest in 
Mrs. Vidal’s beauty. 

^^They think we have been following 
them,” giggled the bride, hiding her face on 
her husband’s shoulder. 

Then they turned, and went back slowly. 
The calcium-light had faded, the cafes van- 
ished in the darkness one by one, as if the 
earth had opened and swallowed the fairy 
palaces, and Mrs. Sharpe did not greet the 
eyes watching for her. Pale horses did in- 
deed crawl down the thoroughfare nearly as 
attenuated as the object of their search ; but 
Mrs. Sharpe’s spectacles did not twinkle be- 
hind them, or Miss Nancy’s serene face beam 
with smiles. 

This is growing awful,” said Mrs. Vidal. 

Something may have happened to them.” 

Pshaw ! nothing can have happened. It 
is twelve o’clock, and they have driven home 
long ago,” said Mr. Vidal. 

Mrs. Sharpe was not in the pension : the 
concierge affirmed that she had not returned. 
At half-past twelve o’clock Mr. Vidal was 
pacing the pavement uneasily, and his wife 
sat crying in the concierge^ s room, when the 
creaking of slowly revolving wheels was 
heard, and the white horse appeared. 

There were tears and laughter and ex- 
planations in the hall — tears from Mrs. Vi- 
dal, laughter from Mr. Vidal, and explana- 
tions from Miss Nancy. Mrs. Sharpe alone 
wore a perfectly stony and unmoved aspect. 

Oblige me by paying the man, Richard,” 
she said, with dignity, and walked upstairs. 

Accordingly, Richard paid, and the cocher 
cracked his whip, but the white horse did 
not move. Miss Nancy was fascinated to 
peep out at the quadruped from upper halls, 
still interested in his welfare, and always 
the white horse stood immovable, as if pet- 
rified by fatigue in the last step taken be- 
fore the door. The painful impression was 
left on her mind that if the animal gave up 
the ghost then and there, the fragments were 
neatly brushed up before morning by a per- 
fect mechanism of municipal government. 

Miss Nancy was wrought to a high pitch 
of excitement by the events of the evening, 
which had delivered Rockwell Cocks into 
her hand. She did not retire, late though 
the hour might be, because she realized that 
action was required of her before sleep came. 
Should she slay her enemy unmercifully? 
Had she any right to interfere in the lives 
of others ? 

What if the last reed on the bank were 
Blanche Pierman, and Rockwell Cocks felt 
himself already drawn down in the flood 
with its rapid under-currents — how was she 
to deliberately cast him off from such slen- 
der anchorage of hope ? On the other hand, 
the reed would always grow on the bank, in 
the sunshine and purity of upper air, while 


the clutching fingers might only uproot and 
cause it to disappear in the stream below. 
How eventful in the history of all their lives 
would these few days in Paris prove ! Only 
yesterday occurred the meeting between 
Howard Denby and Blanche in the Hotel 
Cluny ; and to-night she had seen Rockwell 
Cocks, with her own eyes, shockingly drunk, 
and driving with a notorious actress. 

Miss Nancy opened her journal, and on the 
first page was pasted a slip of newspaper 
once clipped from The Briarhush Banner. A 
newspaper cutting may have a marked in- 
fluence on a human life. The slip was head- 
ed Happy Arithmetic. — Sydney Smith pre- 
served this maxim for himself : ^ When you 
rise in the morning, form the resolution to 
make the day a happy one to a fellow-creat- 
ure. It is easily done : a left-off garment to 
the man who needs it, a kind word to the 
sorrowful, an encouraging expression to the 
striving — trifles in themselves as light as air 
— will do, at least for the twenty-four hours. 
If you are young, depend upon it, it will tell 
for you when you are old; and if you are 
old, rest assured it will send you gently and 
happily down the stream of time to eternity. 
By the most simple arithmetical sum, look 
at the result : If you send one person away 
happily through a day, that is three hundred 
and sixty-five in the course of a year. And 
suppose you live forty years onfy after you 
commence that course of medicine, you will 
have made fourteen thousand six hundred per- 
sons happy, at all events for a time.’ ” Now, 
Miss Nancy had consulted this advice, and 
acted upon it more than once in her humble 
career, until it began to assume a certain 
significance in all her movements. 

The puzzling question was as to the means 
of applying it in the present case. Rock- 
well Cocks might repent and reform to-mor- 
row, if she did not cast him down. And then 
arose the image of the other young man 
whose life had been imbittered by the care- 
less youth, whom she had herself just occa- 
sioned needless humiliation, and promised 
to befriend. Above these partisan feelings 
arose another out of the night, nobler, more 
powerful, irresistible. Blanche was John’s 
child. 

There is strength in silence at times, which 
becomes profound weakness in shrinking 
from necessary revelation at others. 

Miss Nancy opened her desk, and the dawn 
found her writing a letter to John Pierman, 


CHAPTER XVI. 

MRS. SHARPE BUYS A COOK’S TICKET. 

^^I HAVE always declared that I would 
rather sink into my grave in peace without 
having taken a Cook’s ticket. Yes, and here 
I have bought one, after all. Why, I told 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


89 


Emma and Richard that I should feel like a 
cannon -hall propelled through space, or a 
comet stamped on the forehead by the label 
of the great excursion man — if comets have 
heads, the giddy things, shootiug about on 
purpose to put sober and respectable stars 
iniuding their own business out of order. 
Miss Hawse, we can stop just as often as we 
I)lease en route” 

^^And have no care of our baggage until 
we reach Nice,” added Miss Nancy. 

Paris was fading from sight. Mrs. Sharpe 
sat opposite in the ladies’ carriage ; the oth- 
er occupants of the conveyance were two 
little maidens, clad in yellow, like canary- 
birds, and a sombre woman of massive, 
inscrutable countenance, wearing a black 
peaked hood over sable garments. Yes, Par- 
is was fading on the horizon, but not before 
Miss Nancy had scattered confusion and 
discord by the fire-brand launched at Dr. 
Pierman on the night after the memorable 
drive with the white horse a month ago. 

That gentleman had called on her the fol- 
lowing day, and, after a long interview, had 
departed with a new wrinkle in his brow. 
Miss Nancy, having made her statement of 
the truth, stood by her guns ; and herein 
this unsophisticated lady showed the vast 
difference between a Briarbush training un- 
der that unpractical person, the minister, 
and the outside world, which gathers its 
own garments closer after having a fact 
thrust under its very nose, and says, wisely, 
^‘Let every one find out for himself; this 
is none of my business.” 

During the interview Dr. Pierman had 
been silent and receptive, rather than shock- 
ed or startled. He had thanked her for the 
interest evinced in Blanche, and in depart- 
ing closed the door effectually for Miss Nan- 
cy on further knowledge of the affair. She 
was sorely tempted sometimes to seek the 
girl, and read the result of it all in youth’s 
transparent face, but pride withheld her. 
She must school herself to patience in hav- 
i<ug performed an act of duty. 

Howard Denby, surrounded by maps and 
charts in an engineer’s office in London, re- 
ceived a very cheerful letter from Miss Nan- 
cy at this time, calculated to enliven his 
mood, although no mention was made of the 
person nearest the thoughts of both writer 
and recipient. Their paths had again sepa- 
rated; the Piermans would go their way, 
aud she her own, to the end of life. A sense 
of dreariness accompanied this reflection : 
she was always thrust outside those family 
circles where she did not belong. Always ? 
Unkind aspersion on Mrs. Sharpe, who was 
l)repared to cling to her closer than a broth- 
er, both from cordial liking and the neces- 
sity of having a confidante apart from those 
cooing turtle-doves, the bride and groom. 

^^Mind you, I don’t believe a word of that 
trumped-up story about Richard’s waiting 


another week for letters of importance,” said 
Mrs. Sharpe, in the railway-carriage. Fid- 
dle-dee-dee! the mail -bags would not ex- 
plode if required to take the correspondence 
of Mr. Richard Vidal to the South of France 
instead.” 

^^A gentleman’s correspondence is sup- 
posed to be of some importance,” said Miss 
Nancy, with a smile. 

Richard Vidal was an honest young fel- 
low, with a buoyancy of temperament which 
made him rush headlong into all excitement 
of sight-seeing. His moments of serious 
gravity were when he endeavored to in- 
struct his bride in questions of life to which 
he had as yet given little heed, to judge 
from the boyish unconcern of his own de- 
meanor; and the lesson usually terminated 
in a kiss, or a peal of merry laughter, Mrs. 
Sharpe looking on with a frosty smile, and 
the manner of an old cat watching the gam- 
bols of kittens. 

As to that, Richard was left a neat little 
fortune by his father ; buf he needs a bal- 
ance-wheel,” returned Mrs. Sharpe. They 
are mighty wise, those two, but I can see 
through them! Emma must needs have 
new dresses made in Paris for fashionable 
Nice : her wedding trousseau was not suffi- 
ciently fine when she got over here, although 
it cost enough at home; so we were just 
packed off comfortably while they waited 
to spend all the money they liked. I only 
hope they may not come across the town 
yet. Any thing I have left, after wasting 
my substance in Europe, shall go to my 
gran dch ildren .” 

The landscape was not unlike many scenes 
in America — stretches of brown earth, heaps 
of debris, half- finished buildings, detached 
freight -trains, with the peculiar and dis- 
tinctive feature of lines of Lombardy pop- 
lars, stiffened into ungraceful age, and 
springing in rows of small, ugly shape. 
How can any people like the poplar ? Mrs. 
Sharpe took out the neat little green book, 
and consulted the Cook ticket. 

We can be thirty days on the road if we 
choose ; Mr. Cook allows us that privilege. 
Suppose we stop at Dijon for the night? 
The journey will be comfortably broken by 
that means.” 

Or go on to Macon ; we arrive there at 
eight o’clock,” suggested Miss Nancy. 

Lyons is not reached until half-past ten 
to-night, and we must be very tired by that 
time,” said Mrs. Sharpe, replacing the green 
book in her bag with an expression of sat- 
isfaction. It was a day to be remembered. 
Cook’s ticket had attuned Mrs. Sharpe to 
perfect harmony with her surroundings. She 
cared not for the guards, the way-stations, 
the flocks of travelers seeking a place in the 
train as good as her own. Cook had placed 
a cork life-preserver beneath the arms of 
the worthy dame, which buoyed her up in 


90 


MISS NANCY'S PILGRIMAGE. 


the waves of travel, and enabled her to look 
with pitying condescension on her less fort- 
unate fellow-creatures. 

Shadows were gathering in the valleys, 
and sunset was lingering about the crests 
of hills which formed the great water-shsed 
of the rivers, as they approached Dijon. 

^‘What a relief not to search up our 
trunks, and drag them to a hotel just for one 
night !" said Miss Nancy, and opened Bae- 
deker'^ to look for the best house for their 
need. 

‘^We have had such a comfortable day, 
don’t you think that we could keep on to 
Macon ?” Mrs. Sharpe inquired, persuasively. 

The Cook ticket, which allowed her to 
drop off almost anywhere, imparted such 
lightness to her spirits that the miles were 
becoming a jest. If she did not like the 
nose, not to mention the manners, of her fel- 
low-passengers, she had only to get out of 
the train, and wait for another day and bet- 
ter features. This sense of security had the 
strangest influence in making one see the 
best side of affairs, whatever transpired. 

Oh, I am not tired !” assented Miss Nan- 
cy; so Baedeker” was stowed away again 
in the rack above her head, and they went on. 

The October twilight w^as cold, alpine, the 
sky having acquired the pale-green hue of 
a chrysoprase, now that the day had faded ; 
a river flowed along beside the track, white 
and ghostly in the blackness of overhanging 
hills and border meadows ; an occasional 
taper glimmered in the window of a solitary 
farm-house. The river was smoke from the 
engine trailing in mirage-like indistinctness 
along the ground, catching on the hedges, 
and wind-blown. The two little maidens 
in yellow, evidently provincials, sipped wine 
from a long slender flask, and nibbled cakes. 
Occasionally they exchanged a ehirping 
monosyllabic remark, but for the remainder 
of the day they had perused neat books in 
dull covers, having about them the improv- 
ing aspect of Fdn^lon or Madame de Genlis. 
The solitary woman in black remained quiet 
and self-absorbed, maintaining an impene- 
trable reserve that was none the less unap- 
proachable because of a courteous manner.. 

In looking at her with the speculation 
one must expend on the companion of many 
hours. Miss Nancy was reminded of Martha 
Dunne. The underlying strength in the 
large, massive face, with its lines of pain and 
care, was religion, and in any country of the 
globe this type of face would have had this 
same strength. Something glistened in the 
thin, sallow hands once;; it was- a rosary. 

“ I forget about the hotels at Macon,” said 
Miss Nancy, for the second time consulting 
Baedeker.” 

Don’t you think that we could push on 
to Lyons, and have done with it ?” suggested 
Mrs. Sharpe, instead of taking down her bag 
and basket. 


Yes, if you are not tired,” assented Mis's 
Nancy. 

Oh no, Mrs. Sharpe was not in the least 
tired. Apparently, with that Cook ticket 
in her i)ocket, she would have experienced 
no sense of fatigue in going around the 
world in eighty days. ‘‘Baedeker” was 
again consigned to the rack, and the lamp 
was put in the roof, shedding its first pale 
beams on the occupants of the carriage. 
Little did Mrs. Sharpe realize what would 
befall her before those rays again flickered 
out in advancing day! The pale -green 
tints of twilight had faded, the mirage river 
been replaced by a gloomy void of darkness, 
the train was rushing into night. 

“ Half-past ten does not seem late, after 
all/’ mused Mrs. Sharpe, in great good - hu- 
mor. 

“Perhaps I had better — ” began Miss 
Nancy, reaching after the small red volume. 

“No; first listen to me. We have the 
carriage almost to ourselves, and are com- 
fortably settled. It is only one night, and 
I am sure many travelers do much more 
than that. Let us go on to Marseilles,” in- 
terposed her companion. 

Miss Nancy could ne longer restrain her 
laughter. 

“It is our own affair,” said Mrs. Sharpe, 
testily- “At Lyons we will bribe a guard 
to leave us undisturbed-” 

A guard was readily discovered who was 
entirely willing to be bribed, but Mrs. 
Sharpe had. scarcely made her arrangements 
to enjoy the midnight journey, the little ca- 
nary-bird maidens having taken flight, when 
the same guard, or his twin brother, launch- 
ed such a number of female travelers on the 
ladies? carriage as rendered the inmates 
mere human pins, stacked in two rows- 

“ Murder I I shall die in this box for the 
night. Let me out!” panted Mrs. Sharpe, 
clutching wildly at her shawls and bags. 

“ You have given the guard our tickets,” 
protested Miss Nancy. 

This was but too true. The guard had 
claimed, and torn off, a fragment of the pre- 
cious paper. How enviable did the boon of 
freedom at once become when it was lost! 
Mrs- Sharpe had been suddenly overwhelnv 
ed by the advent of a stout woman, en desha- 
who, in seating herself at her side, had 
surged over on the first lady’s territory in all 
those numerous aggressions incident to size. 
The stout woman wore a loose robe of per- 
cale, a little black shawl,, a tight-fitting 
widow’s cap beneath her bonnet, framing 
a pleasing and evidently artificially tinted 
countenance.. 

Mrs- Sharpe nudged the stout lady, and 
grew red im the face ; the stout lady did not 
yield an inch. Mrs. Sharpe audibly bewail- 
ed, if not the day she was born, at least the 
folly of trusting to guards, and of being en- 
snared by Messrs. Cook & Son. 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


91 


We could have stopped at Dijon, Macon, 
or Lyons,” remarked Miss Nancy, opposite. 

“ I know it, and that does not make the 
matter any more pleasant,” retorted Mrs. 
Sharpe. I hope this will cure me of trav- 
eling in a ladies’ carriage in the future. I 
shall have a fit of apoplexy before morning, 
and I should think that all the women in 
France had seen fit to bolt through by night 
express. If they consider it very respecta- 
ble, I do not.” 

The most vivid dreanas of illness do not 
surpass the horrors of a crowded ladies’ car- 
riage at night. Again that question of win- 
dows becomes vital, of damp breeze or suffo- 
cation, and the sashes go up and down, with 
varying degrees of ill-feeling engendered by 
the process. Miss Nancy leaned back in her 
corner^ and observed her companions: the 
novelty of the thing pleased her. The oth- 
ers were surly, patient, affable, or grim, ac- 
cording to their several dispositions. Mrs. 
Sharpe sat with her shawl over her head, 
and the fresh wind blowing in her face, 
which she would on no account exclude. 
The stout lady already slept, with her hands 
in pearl-gray gloves folded in her lap. Be- 
yond, the black-robed woman spoke sooth- 
ingly, in such a delicately soft voice to a 
young lady of evidently petulant disposi- 
tion beside her. 

The lamp glimmered faintly in the centre 
of the roof, and the petulant young lady 
presently drew a green curtain over it, ren- 
dering the interior of the carriage still more 
obscure. How strange every thing seemed ! 
Miss Nancy, acutely wakeful, peered out of 
the window at the clear sky now star-fleck- 
ed, the fleeting outline of hills, and masses 
of shadow which might be villages clustered 
about the church, or parks of trees. Flying 
through space like a soul seeking eternity, 
what had she left behind? Whither was 
she journeying ? Thought may span greater 
distance than the rushing train in the silent, 
wakeful hours. 

From watching Mrs. Sharpe, apprehensive 
that she would yet wage a battle royal with 
the stout lady, and neither of them could ride 
backward, Miss Nancy was again wander- 
ing through the rooms of Uncle Simonas old 
mansion, preparatory to the public sale of 
his effects, musty, homely chambers enough, 
which had sheltered one meagre, self-suffi- 
cient life. Heirs carelessly toss out these 
treasures to^ any purchaser before the body 
is cold that valued them. It came to Miss 
Nancy with a sudden pang of reproach that 
she had been no more considerate ; nay, she 
had sold Uncle Simon’s roof-tree in order to 
make a pilgrimage to Rome. 

How could you be such a fool ?” 

Mrs. Sharpe was sitting bolt-upright with 
the shawl drawn over her nose ; and as the 
stout lady in her sleep showed a desire to 
recline on her shoulder, like a peony lolling 


on its stalk, she had erected a barricade of 
an umbrella, a basket with spikes for orna- 
ments, and a large bouquet, parting gift of 
her son-in-law, between them. 

My dear Mrs. Sharpe, it was your own 
choice,” said Miss Nancy, mildly. 

Then you should not have allowed me to 
have my own way. You might have known 
how it would turn out, if you had any sense. 
Nothing is more tiresome than to have peo^ 
pie always agree with you.” 

‘‘ You are unreasonable,” Miss Nancy could 
not refrain from saying. 

Mrs. Sharpe withdrew her nose wholly be- 
neath the shawl, and fell asleep comfortably. 
Rushing through the night with shadowy 
landscape flying past, and the lamp’s rays- 
flickering through the green screen. Miss 
Nancy, her thoughts roving to the ends of 
the earth, became aware of feeling an ex- 
traordinary interest in the hands of the stout 
lady opposite. Why? They were plump, 
small members,, with a rim of white arm vis- 
ible above the glove of five buttons, and they 
were always folded in the lap while the own- 
er slept profoundly. How the stout ladj 
did sleep, to be sure ! Whenever Miss Nan- 
cy’s gaze reverted from the window, she fell 
to staring at the inanimate gloved hands 
which looked so dainty, while the percale 
morning -gown formed a curious and incon- 
gruous contrast of toilet, perhaps attributa- 
ble to peculiarity of race. 

At length Miss Nancy’s active brain yield- 
ed to the general somnolency of the carriage, 
and she dozed. She was awakened by a 
hand on her ankle; the stout lady was 
stooping forward, and apparently groping 
on the floor ; she was unfastening her boot. 
Miss Nancy’s bag had been placed on the 
floor between her left foot and the window ; 
she raised it and put it on the seat instead’.. 
The stout lady fell asleep again immediate- 
ly. After all, our traveler was rather glad 
to have been aroused;* Mrs. Sharpe was qui- 
et, and she conld watch the day-break, pict- 
uring in advance the beauty of the Mediter^ 
ranean. 

The dawn* came in faint lines of light on 
the horizon, merging to pink and soft blue*. 
There was a wide expanse of gray sands; 
and inlets where the water lapped up gen- 
tly, and then a first glimpse of olive-trees*, 
neutral in hue, as if smoke had developed 
into graceful forms of foliage*, and sharp- 
spiked aloes tufting walls, the first indica- 
tion of a change to* tropical vegetation. 
Houses succeeded vineyards, villas detach- 
ed, clearly visible in the growing light, then 
streets, and then — fulfillment of all dreams^ 
more dazzlingly beautiful in the full radi- 
ance of morning than fancy ever painted it 
— the blue Mediterranean! 

The woman in black, patient, and unruf- 
fled by the night’s discomfort, returned Miss 
Nancy’s greeting ;: Mrs. Sharpe emerged from 


92 


MISS NANCY'S PILGRIMAGE. 


the shawl, crumpled, and with a stiff neck, 
thanks to the draught from the open win- 
dow 5 the petulant young lady groaned, and 
adjusted her hat ; and the stout person still 
slept, with lolling head, mouth slightly open, 
the rouge on her cheeks standing out in 
crimson disks of unnatural color in the pit- 
iless presence of the rising sun. 

Gladly did our travelers descend from 
the carriage at the d^p6t, and stretch their 
cramped limbs, which almost refused their 
office. 

I never cut such a caper before !" said 
Mrs. Sharpe. ^‘We have flown through 
France at night as if on a wager, or our 
lives depended on it, and have seen noth- 
ing. Why, we might have visited the wine 
districts !" 

Marseilles always reminds me of ^ Little 
Dorrit,' " said Miss Nancy. Don't you re- 
member the blinding glare and heat; the 
man whose mustache went up, and his nose 
came down ; Tattycoram ; and the singular 
woman. Miss Wade ?" 

Ah, but Dickens is gone ; and I am sure 
that I don't know who is ever to replace 
him, for my part," replied Mrs. Sharpe. 

They were driven to the Grand H6tel 
de la Sardine, very spacious and handsome, 
with the aspect about it of hot noondays 
when the open court, with its palms and 
fountain, would be a grateful retreat. 

N6tre Dame de la Garde crowned the hill, 
most nobly placed of churches on the peak 
of rock, with the golden image of the Virgin 
on the spire rising against the sky, a daz- 
zling beacon for the sailor's eye. A sick 
woman had been up all the weary steps, 
I)erhaps to give thanks for convalescence, 
and sat on the slope basking in the sun- 
shine; a priest descended, his black form 
in silhouette against all the brilliant color- 
ing of his surroundings. Below, the city 
seemed to lie in a basin formed by the en- 
circling hills, a city more ancient than the 
first days of Roman conquest, and one of 
the modern world’s great ports, with wide 
quays and store-houses, and the net-work 
of masts friuging the harbor, where narrow 
streets diverged from sunlit expanses, like 
some threads of life leading to darkness, 
crime, and death in slimy nooks, while oth- 
ers merged into squares with Oriental ba- 
zaars full of Eastern wares. 

On this afternoon there was no hint of 
mistral or cloud, and beyond the ramparts 
ef wall extended the margin of sea, calm 
and intensely blue, the rocks making their 
own shadows in the mirror-like surface, and 
Chateau d’lf, forever associated with Monte 
Cristo " in the strange mingling of fiction 
with fact, sheltering its low towers as if 
from the sweep of tempests. A carriage 
had ascended the hill, containing two la- 
dies. The walls were everywhere glaring 
white or yellow, with sharp relief of shad- 


ow in angles beneath that sky of brilliant 
azure. Women toiled up the steep incline, 
bronzed by sun, their dark hair absolutely 
bleached to dusty hues, bearing shallow 
baskets of fruit and vegetables. Brown 
children laughed and quarreled in the dust 
of the highway. French children of the 
people seem unattractive, where the ugly 
blue blouse prevails, never fresh, and con- 
cealing any amount of wear on the part of 
the sallow, thin little ones. Babies only 
look plump and droll in their tight little 
caps. 

Here in the South, the olive faces increased 
in beauty, approaching nearer the Italian, 
as the patois acquired Italian terminations. 
A little girl paused to glance at the carriage, 
herself a charming study, with small, reg- 
ular features and black eyes ; clad in pale- 
pink calico, a broad hat on her head, and 
carrying a basket of charcoal on her arm. 

I hope the road is not dangerous," said 
the elder lady. ^^I am always giddy on 
heights. Good gracious ! driver, let me get 
out and walk." 

In vain the driver, a hale and smiling 
old man, protested, and Miss Nancy raised 
her voice in remonstrance. Mrs. Sharpe de- 
scended from the carriage as the road wound 
about the brow of the eminence, and paced 
solemnly behind, holding her umbrella over 
her head, and followed by a vociferous train 
of venders, who seemed to spring out of 
the ground at every step in additional num- 
bers. 

^^I wish you would not be silly, Mrs. 
Sharpe. There is really no danger, and 
you may get a sun-stroke," said Miss Nan- 
cy, actually losing her temper, 

^^Then you must put ice on my brain, 
if you can find any here," answered Mrs. 
Sharpe, doggedly. No, I sha'n't buy can- 
dles ; I’m not a Papist, and I don’t under- 
stand a word you are saying." 

This last remark was directed toward the 
venders with energetic head-shakings. An 
old crone had followed the carriage with her 
bunch of tapers held up appealingly to Miss 
Nancy, who was sorely tempted to buy one, 
and light it in the church on the hill, had 
not Mrs. Sharpe's eye been upon her. The 
way was steep, and the crone no doubt very 
poor ; moreover, the temple on the hill was 
the sailor’s church, and in all lands sailors 
have a place in the hearts of the people. 
Here, on the 15th of August, the silver stat- 
ue from the church is borne through the 
city streets in procession, the sailors having 
brought, it into town the previous evening 
on their shoulders. Miss Nancy's sympathy 
went out to N6tre Dame de la Garde, as it 
had done to the rude Calvary at Boulogne. 
How plainly she could see it all again ! Mrs. 
Sharpe's presence alone preventing her from 
buying the candle, she turned resolutely to 
the driver, 


MISS NANCrS 

Are you a republican, my good fellow 
sbe asked, deaf to tbe prayers of the crone. 

The driver glanced over his shoulder at 
Miss Nancy in alarm and suspicion. 

No, madam. I am nothing.^^ 

I am an American, and republican, you 
know,’^ she resi)onded, re-assuriugly. 

Thus encouraged, the driver oi)ined that 
he also was republican, although in France 
it was not the same thing as in America. 
FarUeu ! here one had the bayonet always 
held at one^s throat. Yes, and Monsieur 
Thiers was a native of Marseilles, and yet 
did nothing for that city. It was not ren- 
dered clear to Miss Nancy^s mind what Mar- 
seilles expected of Monsieur Thiers, if, in- 
deed, it was clear to the driver’s as a poli- 
tician ; but the circumstance seemed to op- 
press him as a vague grievance in the inter- 
vals of encouraging his horse and glancing 
back at Mrs. Sharpe toiling after, for whose 
conduct he could find no solution in his pre- 
vious experience. 

There stood the church, the atmosphere 
heavy with perpetual incense, the walls stud- 
ded with votive pictures, the altars illumi- 
nated with votive candles, and down below 
in the crypt a dim lamp of oil waning and 
kindling in memory of dead sailors. 

I like to see the place in such weather,” 
said Miss Nancy, pausing on the steps to 
gaze seaward. One always associates it 
with fierce heat, and perhaps ravaged by 
pestilence, as in the days when the good 
bishop would not desert his flock in the 
plague, whose bronze statue still seems to 
bless the people among the trees of the 
square.” 

The heat is sufficiently great to remind 
one of Tophet,” returned Mrs. Sharpe, with 
countenance empurpled by her toilsome 
walk. 

^‘Another prelate met with a terrible 
death out on one of the islands: Rolland, 
Archbishop of Arles, who was carried away 
captive by the Moors; murdered; his ran- 
som accepted ; the dead body dressed in pon- 
tifical robes, and sent back in a boat to the 
shore. Then, tourists and guide-books pro- 
nounce Marseilles uninteresting, when the 
different nationalities gathered in the port 
would alone prove the reverse.” 

1 intend to buy some pistachio-nuts ; but 
go on,” returned Mrs. Sharpe, fanning her- 
self violently. 

^‘Twenty-four centuries ago, a certain ruler 
held a festival, and gave his fair daughter a 
choice of husbands from among a colony of 
youthful Phocseans, dwellers in Asia Minor. 
She preferred Nestori, a Greek, who selected 
new ground to build on, and the bride and 
bridegroom founded Marseilles, B.c. 599.” 

“Very pretty, indeed,” said Mrs. Sharpe. 
“ How on earth shall we ever get down from 
this hill alive ?” 

The lady put her hand in her pocket, and 


PILGRIMAGE. 93 

turned a dismayed face toward her compan- 
ion as she withdrew it again. 

“ Dear me ! I hope nothing has happen- 
ed,” said Miss Nancy, apprehensively. 

“ Happened !” Twice Mrs. Sharpe’s mouth 
opened and closed without distinct sound; 
then she ejaculated : 

“It’s gone again! I have always heard 
that experience is a dear school, yet fools 
learn in no other. Well, well! and a second 
time, too. Oh, you need not stare so help- 
lessly, Miss Hawse ! I know it was the stout 
woman in the railway-carriage, and, what is 
more, I shall always believe that she was a 
man in disguise.” 

“ You don’t mean that you have been rob- 
bed ?” said Miss Nancy, faintly. 

Could the stout woman have been a thief, 
and those neatly gloved hands false ones, 
folded in her lap ? 

“ My purse is gone, and I have not looked 
before.” 

“What a world it is!” sighed our trav- 
eler, and the ladies descended the hill, Mrs. 
Sharpe clutching the sides of the carriage, 
and shutting her eyes tightly the while. 

The Grand H6tel de la Sardine did not fail 
to impress on the wayfarer the superiority 
of its accommodations. An olive -skinned 
boy, with a brass band on his cap, had in- 
vited the ladies to ascend by “ the lift ” in 
the morning ; but Mrs. Sharpe had inspected 
the European imitation of the American ele- 
vator, and declined. 

“It looks like a rickety box with glass 
sides,” she had said, and the olive-skinned 
boy had retired humiliated. 

There was a tdble-Whote, served with the 
utmost elegance, of which the ladies partook, 
and afterward, when the olive-skinned boy 
again appeared, his claims to consideration 
were not slighted. 

“ Let us try the lift,” said Mrs. Sharpe, 
with flagging energy. 

Just as she seated herself a servant came 
to the door of the box, and delivered a let- 
ter. 

“From Richard; and my spectacles are 
upstairs. I am glad that there are no pas- 
sengers besides ourselves.” 

Mrs. Sharpe held the letter in her hand, 
the boy closed the door with a crash, and 
the lift began to ascend rapidly. 

“It seems to work smoothly,” observed 
Miss Nancy, and was just preparing some 
phrases in her mind wherewith to question 
the boy concerning the mechanism when 
the lift began to oscillate with a grating 
sound. 

“ Goodness ! it will break,” shrieked Mrs. 
Sharpe. “ The boy does not know how to 
manage it. We shall drop to the first floor 
presently.” 

The lift was behaving in a very extraor- 
dinary fashion, and the olive - skinned one 
seemed bewildered by its vagaries. First 


94 


MISS NANCY'S PILGRIMAGE. 


H sliot "witli terrific velocity to the very top 
of the house, stopping at no such way-sta- 
tions" as the floor designated by Miss Nan- 
cy ; then it sunk again in a succession of 
jerks to six feet below their landing, where 
it remained stationary. A lengthy expla- 
nation ensued on the part of the boy. 

^^He says that the lift works by means 
of hydraulic pressure, and that he thought 
it would go longer. However, if the wa- 
ter is out, we must wait until a sufficient 
quantity flows in again for use," said Miss 
Nancy. 

We must wait for enough water to hoist 
us six feet," said Mrs. Sharpe, with more 
calmness, gazing up at the inaccessible land- 
ing. ^^Did you ever hear of the lady who 
went down in an elevator, and the heels of 
her boots were buried in the wood-work by 
the shock of concussion ?" 

^^No, I never did," said Miss Nancy, shud- 
dering nervously. 

I said then, I would never use one while 
Providence granted me feet, and here I am," 
said Mrs. Sharpe, solemnly. 

Shrill whistles piped, bells rang, feet hur- 
ried along all the corridors, and heads peep- 
ed down at them. There was nothing so 
interesting to be seen in the Grand Hotel de 
la Sardine at that moment as Mrs. Sharpe 
and Miss Nancy in the lift, caught like a 
bubble in a glass tube. The landlord ap- 
peared at the door above, and they had am- 
X)le opportunity of admiring his round face, 
bald head, and long mustache, as he hung 
over them with hands extended as if in the 
act of blessing them, like a cherub leaning 
out of a cloud. 

The landlord called Heaven to witness 
that it was an unheard-of calamity for the 
water to fail, and their detention should be 
but brief. After they had sat there for an 
hour, Mrs. Sharpe remarked, 

I am tired of being stared at as if I were 
a wild animal escaped from a menagerie. I 
believe I will open my letter without spec- 
tacles." 

As she tore the envelope a second letter 
fell out, and Miss Nancy, stooping to recover 
it, saw her own name. 

Richard wrote a line here, and inclosed 
this letter for you," explained Mrs. Sharpe, 

Of course Miss Nancy studied the envelope, 
address, and postmark with intense curiosi- 
ty, being a woman, before opening it. A 
stranger had evidently written her from 
America. Her first fear \vas of ill news 
from Briarbush, and grandmother. 

What was this ? The landlord was again 
gesticulating above them. Mrs. Sharpe and 
the olive-skinned one seemed to be shouting 
in her ear, while she sat dumb and motion- 
less. The letter was from Martha Dunne, 
the lines swam before her eyes; all she 
seemed to realize was that Uncle Simon's 
shares had been discovered, and she, Nancy 


Hawse, was the possessor of one hundred 
and fifty thousand dollars ! 

My ! you look as if you had seen a ghost. 
We are to climb up on boxes, I believe, if he 
lowers them before the thing breaks." 

It was a pleasant sight to behold Mrs. 
Sharpe scramble up on these boxes when ar- 
ranged, and clamber thankfully into the cor- 
ridor once more, with the assistance of the 
landlord, a sympathizing femme de cliamlrej 
and two porters. 

Now, tell me your wonderful news, my 
dear," she said, when they were safe in their 
rooms once more. 

Miss Nancy, with hysterical laughter and 
tears, read Martha Dunne's letter to her 
friend. 

I am glad of it," exclaimed Mrs. Sharpe, 
and kissed the heiress. There is no one 
of my acquaintance who deserves better 
fortune than you, Nancy Hawse." 

Now I can send back and buy Pandora," 
exclaimed Nancy. 

^ The Pandora !' What is that ? Do not 
lose your head all at once," admonished Mrs. 
Sharpe. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

SUNSHINE AT NICE. 

Said Mrs. Sharpe, 

This is the strangest climate I ever knew. 
First you are roasted, and then you are fro- 
zen, or one side of you is baked in the sun, 
while the other shoulder may be stiff with 
cold at the same moment. You either feel 
like flying in the exhilarating atmosphere, 
or running ten miles at least, or you wish 
to sit down and quarrel furiously with your 
best friends, impelled to it by the pricking 
irritation of a galvanic-battery applied to 
your spine." 

You can not find fault with Cimiez, and 
on such a day," replied Miss Nancy, laugh- 
ing. 

Well, no, I can not," assented her com- 
panion, with unexpected docility, and be- 
came silent. 

Sunshine at Nice. What a wealth of life 
and color, a dream of perfumed breeze and 
rarefied keen air the very words suggest, 
and a landscape so peculiar that it has been 
compared with i)ainting on porcelain! The 
road wound up to Cimiez, leaving far below 
a sheet of dazzling sea ; then the town of 
Nice, a straggling town, never handsome, 
with dried river -course strewed with the 
laundress's clothes, full of evil odors and 
unsightly objects at every turn, and that 
margin of old houses huddled beneath the 
brink of rocks, with crumbling, steep roofs, 
black in the daylight — roofs built before 
Christ dawned on the world. Farther up the 
slope was a girdle of villas of all tints, har- 
monizing with the brilliant blue of sea and 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


95 


sky ; here a turret of red or violet, a dome 
of yellow and sage green, and the terra cot- 
ta of Viennese architecture framed in hedges 
of cactuses and aloes, shaded by feathery 
palms, the gardens a wilderness of roses, 
thyme, heliotrope, and jessamine. 

Two gigantic oak-trees grew on the pla- 
teau, spreading knotted branches abroad to 
shade the walls of the Franciscan convent. 
The peaceful stillness of a land steeped in 
the balm of golden sunshine was over every 
thing ; spicy scents floated up from beds of 
flowers and herbs ; the hills piling to mount- 
ains on the left took a softer outline of lilac 
bloom from the all-pervading warmth j and 
the chain of snow Alps — most marvelous 
contrast — rested like peaks flecked with 
diamond-dust against the heavens. Motes 
floated in the air — motes, or sparkling in- 
sects — coming and vanishing again, as if 
perishing in glad dissolution in the glory of 
the sunbeams. In this very ecstasy of light 
and life there were solemnity and silence. 
On the left rose the old castle, once a cita- 
del to oppose the pirates that scourged the 
coast not a century ago, carrying away to 
horrible captivity men and women ; on the 
right the Byzantine chapel, erected on the 
spot where died the czarowitch, when the 
Russian emperor walked at midnight to Vil- 
la Franca beside the corpse of his son, bear- 
ing a lighted candle, to the waiting frigate; 
and beyond the curve of shore, Cannes, shel- 
tered by its charming little bay of Napoli 
and the purple line of Esterels. 

^^The Riviera flowers are simply distract- 
ing,” Miss Nancy announced, as they paused 
beneath the oaks. Violets unequaled for 
size and sweetness, tuberoses perfect as wax, 
cherry, laurel, rosemary, and the little golden 
ball of cassia known to Scripture, surpass 
hot-house plants in colder climates. Think 
of the fields of blossoms between Nice and 
Grasse, where they must distill their odors 
into bottles to perfume the world. Why, 
the very orange-trees are marvels.” 

I suppose that I shall wind you up like 
a clock, or the man with a banjo in the cor- 
ner of the minstrel troupe who always in- 
quires ^Why’ in the right place,” returned 
Mrs. Sharpe. 

^‘Consider the utility,” pursued Miss Nan- 
cy, earnestly : “ the orange blossoms furnish 
neroli; orange-flower water, with an admixt- 
ure of leaf, is the next process ; the rind of 
the green fruit prepares certain liquors and 
perfumes ; while the pulp feeds cattle. Then, 
the olive-tree is such a manifold blessing to 
these countries ; and the caronbier - tree, 
flourishing in the clefts of the rocks, like 
the orange in shape, is also very useful ; the 
wood is that rich red in cabinet-work, and 
the fruit consists of long pods of a shining 
burned sienna color, the husk hard, the pulp 
sweet, and the yellow nuts furnish a substi- 
tute for coffee when roasted.” 


Really, my dear, you are a walking dic- 
tionary. The scent of neroli makes me sick, 
and I hate oil ; but I am very much obliged 
to you all the same. If I am ever wrecked 
on a desert island, like Robinson Crusoe, I 
promise to eat the caron bier-nuts properly 
roasted, because I shall miss my cofiee. Let 
us visit the cemetery first, and then peep into 
the monastery if possible.” 

I should like to see monks in their cells, 
of all things,” returned Miss Nancy, glan- 
cing at the sombre walls of the building 
with a degree of terror and fascination. 

Solemn, sunny, and still, the amphithea- 
tre crowned the hill, perfect in outline now^ 
with the dens for wild beasts, the seats for 
the people, the arena where Christian mar- 
tyrs shed their blood, while the prefect of 
the district sat and enjoyed the si)ort with 
such zest as one banished to the provinces 
might feel when debarred from the Colise- 
um. For the first time. Miss Nancy beheld 
with her own eyes the Roman arch, rising 
in perfect symmetry, and dwarfing her size 
as she passed beneath a fragment as massive 
and imperishable as the Roman nature and 
the Roman fame. 

Solemn, sunny, and still was the cemetery 
hewed from rock, lined with tombs up to the 
convent wall, chevaliers, countesses, mar- 
quises, and courtiers finding a resting-place 
in stone chambers where a crucifix gleams 
beyond the grated door, and immortelles re- 
veal that memory has not perished yet. A 
marble woman knelt beside a cross, exqui- 
sitely pure and white in the shadow of the 
church. A monk’s voice disturbed the 
brooding quiet, floating out of one of the 
grated windows above, mellow and rich — 
an Italian voice — but did not reach the mar- 
ble woman kneeling beside the cross. 

Solemn, sunny, and still the convent stood, 
arched, with spires and curious design of 
roof, the rows of cells occupied by the broth- 
ers visible beyond. Mrs. Sharpe and Miss 
Nancy entered the chilly stone passage, peer- 
ed inquisitively at a roughly paved court, 
and even went to the curb of the pictur- 
esque well in the centre, and looked in as if 
anticipating that mysteries lurked at the 
bottom. The water dripped monotonously 
from moss-grown stones, telling no tales of 
monastic life — if there were any to impart — 
and the black depths of water far below re- 
vealed only their own inquiring faces. The 
church permitted ingress to our travelers, 
and they saw an interior, very dark, rich, 
with veiled pictures, carved pulpits and pil- 
lars, and those illuminated missals and pre- 
cious volumes cherished by the priesthood. 
Farther a female foot might not intrude, 
and accordingly Miss Nancy was particular- 
ly desirous to continue her investigations. 

A great wooden portal swung open, dis- 
closing a second stone corridor more chilly 
and dark than the first, and a monk with 


96 


MISS NAKCrS PILGKIMAGE. 


face concealed in liis brown cowl, glancing 
at tbe Yisitors, hurried away, part of the 
gloomy obscurity. Then tbe door closed 
once more, and they were outside on the 
plateau beneath the oak-trees, having seen 
the monk of romance and fiction hastening 
along the stone cloisters with an iron cross 
inserted in the wall above his head. 

Following a little path, the ladies next 
came to the edge of the hill, their way lead- 
ing them past gray walls and crumbling 
ruins honey-combed with dark nooks and 
secret passages in the skeleton of a former 
monastery, the stones tufted with tiny cling- 
ing plants all blooming with little pink bells 
and scented, snowy plumes. A border of 
olive-trees formed a gray veil above the town 
from this point, interspersed with chestnut, 
pepper, and acacia, and the wide-spread, 
glittering sea, well named here Bale des 
Anges, where a white gull circled, and dipped 
to the wave. Far below was the villa where 
Lord Bulwer Lytton is said to have written 
one of his novels. Beyond is the home of 
Cruvelli, once famous as the most capricious 
nightingale of the Parisian Opera, now hid- 
den in the leafy thickets of private life. 
Below, again. Garibaldi was born. The 
mountains had gained a lovely, silvery mist, 
which changed the snow-peaks also to pin- 
nacles of silver, and on the horizon-line of 
waters rested the same exquisite vapor. 
Flowers, sunshine, the balmy warmth and 
purity of atmosphere where the insects hov- 
ered and vanished, and the spire of the con- 
vent church pointing heavenward — these 
blended to one complete whole. 

^^Oh, let us remain here on the heights!” 
exclaimed Miss Nancy, rapturously. ‘‘ I am 
weary of the town and its tawdry display.” 

“So am I,” rejoined Mrs. Sharpe, seating 
herself on a rock. “ The young people seem 
to enjoy it, though.” 

“ I wonder if it is a good place for young 
people,” queried Miss Nancy, after a pause. 

Behind them a brown donkey occupied an 
arch of the old Koman ruin for a stable, and 
poked out his head, blinking reflectively. 
Donkeys were irresistible to Miss Nancy, 
whether saddled with little boxes for chil- 
dren, themselves but babies, or soberly trot- 
ting in the path of duty with panniers of 
clean linen balanced on their sides. She 
went over and patted him on the nose, while 
Mrs. Sharpe said, 

“ They spend money like water here. It 
requires large sums to keep afloat at a hotel 
in Nice.” 

“ Perhaps other parts of Europe would im- 
prove their minds more, and they are both 
so young,” sa^ Miss Nancy, stroking the don- 
key^s intelligent, droll little face, and look- 
ing intently at the back of Mrs. Sharpe’s 
bonnet. 

Had that lady turned her head, she would 
have been startled by the expression on her 


companion’s face, which was thoughtful, per- 
plexed, and undecided. That morning she 
had leaned from her window attracted by 
the conversation of two gentlemen in the 
garden below. The first gentleman had re- 
marked, 

“ They say at the club that a young Amer- 
ican is going to the dogs.” 

“ Keally ! The taj^is vet't or laccarat V in- 
quired the second. 

“A little of both, I fancy,” returned the 
first. “ No, not stopping at this house — at 
the H6tel Louis d’Or.” 

The Vidals, arriving two weeks after their 
elders, had gone to the Louis d’Or. Now, 
why Miss Nancy, standing on the height at 
Cimiez, petting a brown donkey, should as- 
sociate this conversation with Richard Vidal 
she could not tell, but she did so instinctive- 
ly, and the conviction troubled her all the 
more deeply because of the unconscious state 
of Mrs. Sharpe concerning her own thoughts. 

“ Spoken like a school-mistress,” said Mrs. 
Sharpe, rising. “ Young people must enjoy 
themselves, I suppose, and it occurs to me, 
my dear Miss Hawse, that we are lingering 
likewise. Ah, I must keep an eye on you 
since you have become an heiress, that you 
do not make a great foreign marriage — a 
count, at the very least.” 

“ Don’t be silly, please,” said Miss Nancy, 
hastily, and reddened with sensitive embar- 
rassment. 

They had indeed lingered, and the spell 
of the Riviera was on them all, beguiling to 
a few more days of sunshine, beguiling also 
by fearful telegrams from farther on of 
storms and cold, so that the affrighted and 
enchanted traveler pictured once balmy 
Italy as a howling waste, buried knee-deep 
in snow, and not safe ground until spring. 
Two months had elapsed since Miss Nancy 
received the tidings that she was a rich 
woman, and she was already becoming used 
to scattering all the sous she had long craved 
among the old and decrepit poor. Further 
explanations had come from Martha Dunne 
relative to her brother’s affairs. The stern, 
conscientious woman had not flinched from 
the task she had set for herself to discover 
those to whom he had been indebted, and 
those whom he had injured as a prosperous 
man. Had not Miss Nancy found the pock- 
et-book, and interested Martha Dunne in 
her own story, traces of Uncle Simon’s mon- 
ey might indeed have been discovered, yet 
not with the same directness of purpose in 
search. 

Uncle Simon’s money had been invested 
in an oil company. How he was ever at- 
tracted to the field of speculation, and in- 
trusted the sum to Hiram Dunne, must ever 
remain a mystery to all save the two dead 
men now. Nay, had Hiram Dunne lived, 
would he ever have made the restitution 
to Miss Nancy without clear legal proof of 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


97 


claim, farthing for farthing, that his sister 
did with almost feverish haste and exact- 
ness ? Martha was also moved to impart 
to Miss Nancy some of her own schemes for 
the future, the maturing of those vague as- 
pirations of a whole previous solitary life 
when she had served for bread, in the sud- 
den inheritance of power to fulfill them. 
She would make plans such as had never 
been attempted for the needy, and organize 
many homes, self-supporting, and calculated 
to meet the wants of the industrious — not 
expend all on one great structure with Char- 
ity written over the door, and which would 
then stand empty. Miss Nancy had respond- 
ed, thrilling with sympathy over the project. 

The Jardin Publique was thronged with 
people j the palm-trees relieved the dazzling 
whiteness of the promenade here and there ; 
and ttie band was playing, imparting an 
elasticity to the step, a quickening current 
in the veins surely not felt elsewhere save 
beneath that Mediterranean sky. Fat old 
gentlemen strolled about, carrying white 
umbrellas; jaunty officers mingled with the 
populace; the carriages passed and repass- 
ed the battery of loungers lining the way. 
The Russian sat in her landau, half conceal- 
ed in lap-robe of snowy fur ; the American 
drove past in her pony-carriage, great jew- 
els sparkling in her ears ; the English girl 
showed her fair face more charily, having 
been swejjt away by paterfamilias to aris- 
tocratic Cannes and quiet Hy^res^ It was 
altogether a most incongruous mixture of 
splendor, extravagance, paste, and sham, 
jostling and surveying each other good-nat- 
uredly. 

The Nigois, in brown -velveteen coat, a 
dash of red about his person in cravat or 
sash, smoked his cigarette, gazing at the 
strangers, half amused and never surprised 
by any new type. 

This place is going down-hill, I believe,” 
said Mrs. Sharpe, reflectively. A stream of 
vice flowing from all quarters of the globe 
naturally drives away virtue, and I am sure 
it is a wicked place enough. Nice seems to 
me to wear its hat very much on one side 
and to swagger, if a man, aud to trail its 
skirts over dirty pavements, with its face 
horribly painted beneath a white-lace veil, 
if a woman.” 

Monaco is ruining the whole Riviera, 
like a blight on the fairest blossom,” said 
Miss Nancy. 

^^Yes, indeed,” responded Mrs. Sharpe. 
^^And what a mercy it is that we Ameri- 
cans do not naturally take to gambling !” 

‘‘Let those who think they stand take 
heed lest they fall,” said the school-marm, 
solemnly. 

“ Well, I do not suppose that ominous re- 
mark is intended for me, as I never expect 
to visit the horrible place again,” said Mrs. 
Sharpe, quite gayly. 

7 


“ Nor do I,” added Miss Nancy. 

The Pension Cosmopolitaine, where our 
travelers dwelt, was a white house with 
green shutters, surrounded by a garden and 
facing the promenade. As set forth in the 
advertisement, the Pension Cosmopolitaine 
was all that heart could desire in the way 
of such an establishment ; and if basking in 
the sun’s full rays and commanding an unin- 
terrupted view of the sea could satisfy, the 
boast was fulfilled in the result. The closer, 
microscopic investigation incident to a pro- 
longed stay, however, revealed that the gar- 
den was ragged and disheveled, with a fount- 
ain in the centre admirably adapted for fos- 
tering mosquito life, aud a few orange-trees 
drooped against the wall ; that the mansion 
had a battered and scarred aspect, and a 
tendency in -doors to settle, with yawning 
chinks above and below, perhaps attributa- 
ble to its once having served in the unsuc- 
cessful missiou of a school for young ladies. 
Despite these disadvantages, the Pension was 
excessively genteel, always crowded, and 
gathered that variety of elements to be an- 
ticipated from its name, and the town where 
it was located. The secret of this popular- 
ity, stripped of all those pleasant little de- 
ceptions of excuse which deceive nobody, 
was the reasonable price demanded, and no 
other consideration. 

The j)owers of government were usually 
invisible, aud consisted of four sisters who 
had kept the school in former years. At 
noon daily the Mesdemoiselles Tissier might 
have been seen walking in a private garden, 
bare-headed, and with parasols exactly alike, 
which gave them the aspect of a procession 
of mushrooms, now promenading down a 
side path, now clustering about a plant with 
the charming harmony so desirable in fami- 
lies which made them all bend over a flow- 
er at once. On the stroke of one the white 
parasols vanished again, and the Mesdemoi- 
selles Tissier appeared no more that day in 
the eyes of their pensionnaires. What became 
of them afterward was always a subject of 
lively discussion in the salon of a morning, 
when the ladies met there to read the news- 
papers, sew, and gossip about each other. 

Between the French school-mistress and 
Miss Nancy how great the contrast! The 
elder Mademoiselle Tissier wore a becoming 
deshabille^ consisting of a flowered loose gown, 
her coiffure most elaborately constructed of 
puffs and braids innumerable, which, with a 
straw hat trimmed coquettishly with roses, 
gave her something of the aspect of au an- 
tiquated Dresden shepherdess. 

The Pension sustained its reputation for 
many nationalities by a Swiss head-waiter 
of pugnacious disposition, who waged per- 
petual warfare with his underlings, gather- 
ed from Italian, French, and German by- 
ways of waiterdom ; and the Tower of Babel 
was shadowed forth in miniature by the con- 


MISS NANCY'S PILGRIMAGE. 


fusion of tongues at the tdble-d’Jiote nightly 
spread by the Mesdemoiselles Tissier. Scan- 
dinavia held one end of the salle d manger; 
Great Britain claimed the whole middle of 
the table ; and there was a margin of Amer- 
icans, Spaniards, and occasional Poles or 
Belgians, who came and went like beads 
slipped up and down on a string. 

Mrs. Vidal was awaiting their return im- 
patiently. 

^^Do come with me to the club matinee, 
Miss Hawse," she cried. A black silk and 
lace fichu will do. Oh, ma, my Worth dress 
has arrived, and I mean to show it, only 
Richard has gone off somewhere with the 
duke. So tiresome, is it not 

I will accompany you, of course," said 
Miss Nancy, thinking how odd it was to 
have passed the line where people always 
seem to take one for elderly, and therefore 
fit to be a chaperon. 

Will it be very gay, Mrs. Vidal ?" 

Oh dear, no ; a dance or so and an ice, 
with a little flirtation," replied Mrs. Vidal, 
gathering up her train. 

So the Worth dress came upstairs in the 
Pension Cosmopolitaiue, while Miss Nancy 
assumed her best gown in haste, Mrs. Sharpe 
looking on with a mixture of j)ride and dis- 
pleasure. The bride had changed much in 
these few months, having gained that world- 
ly charm of savoir faire in an exceedingly 
bad school, where the colors are apt to be 
hard and prominent in imitation of the soft- 
ly blended hues of the original. Her cheeks 
had lost something of their roundness, and 
there were lines beneath her eyes suggestive 
of late hours; but she was assured, composed, 
and excessively gay in speech and manner. 
In a word, she was rapidly approaching that 
standard erected by foreign nations of the 
American wife abroad, young, pretty, and 
extravagant, out of whose pleasing eccen- 
tricities dramatists may reap their harvests 
— ^Victorien Sardou and Alexandre Dumas 
on the Paris stage. The word ^^fast" has a 
certain half-fearful charm to ears masculine 
and feminine not to be lightly estimated. 

Mrs. Vidal was a belle, much to her own 
delight and her mother’s astonishment. She 
spent the morning in absorbed rapture, won- 
dering what she would wear at the evening’s 
party, and she wept when all wire-pulling 
failed to obtain her an invitation to a pri- 
vate costume ball, where she had quite set 
her heart on appearing as Dawn, with her 
yellow hair hanging down her back, and 
Richard’s new diamond bracelets on her 
arms. Now, the Worth dress must go to the 
club matinee, despite Richard’s non-appear- 
ance, and the wearer had an especial reason 
for claiming Miss Nancy’s companionship in- 
stead of that of her own mother. 

The club ball-room was already filled when 
the Worth dress appeared. Daylight was 
carefully excluded, and chandeliers illumi- 


nated gilded ceilings, mirrors, and polished 
floor, which gave Miss Nancy the same giddy 
feeling imparted by the Luxembourg galler- 
ies, when Pandora in falling became added 
to the school-marm’s possessions. She glad- 
ly escaped to one of the seats ranged in a 
double tier about the room, where she sat a 
delighted spectator, and by no means neg- 
lected, for people were very polite to our 
heroine, especially elderly foreign gentlemen 
with gray mustaches, who paid her compli- 
ments which she failed to understand. 

I am just the same person as before I had 
money," she reflected, rather grimly, as those 
are apt to reflect who inherit tardy fortunes. 

There could be no doubt about the tri- 
umph of the Worth dress. In all that brill- 
iant concourse ot satins, lace, and creamy- 
white, the green-velvet robe, with its spark- 
ling embroideries of silver and bewildering 
convolutions of trimming, was unequaled in 
conspicuous attractiveness, and Mrs. Vidal, 
with cheeks slightly flushed and eyes very 
bright, was supremely happy. She had out- 
done, fairly eclipsed, every one. Miss Nancy 
watched the dancers, only half heeding the 
hum of conversation and the airy music 
which made her tap her own foot on the 
ground in a wild desire to join the whirling 
crowds. Here a French officer skipped with 
neat and jaunty steps ; there a German flew 
along in the maddest galop pace, with his 
blonde hair falling over his spectacles ; and 
an American couple glided between in the 
intricate mazes of the “ Boston." The music 
and the brilliant scene were mounting also 
to Miss Nancy’s head like wine ; her cheeks 
flushed, and her eyes sparkled, as she kept 
time with her foot on the waxed floor. Mrs. 
Vidal was dancing with a person of the type 
of physiognomy known as ^^hatchet-face," 
his mustache terminating in two attenuated 
spikes above hollow cheeks, his hair parted 
in the middle of a small flat head, his atti- 
tude partaking of those exaggerations some- 
times observed in a jumping-jack suspended 
outside of a toy-shop by a string. 

I don’t like the man’s face ; it is narrow, 
cynical, and evil," thought Miss Nancy, who 
was subject to the prompt repulsions of the 
unsophisticated. 

Then she fell to wondering why Richard 
Vidal was not in attendance on his pretty 
wife in such a public place ; why he per- 
mitted her to be whirling around in the 
embrace of the evil-looking man with the 
spiked mustache. Her meditations were in- 
terrupted by a little commotion incident to 
the green -velvet train coiling like a serpent 
about the feet of the partner, and Mrs. Vi- 
dal came to the ground with her cavalier. 
She was up again, laughing, and protesting 
that she was unhurt, in a moment ; but she 
came over to Miss Nancy and sat down. 

I suppose I should not dance any more 
after that ; but my card is full," she said, 


MISS NANCY^S PILGKIMAGE. 


99 


complacently. What a pity all those nice- 
looking girls are without partners ! I tried 
to drive the count away to dance with some 
of them, hut he would not go.^^ 

Mrs. Vidal, with that prestige of being a 
belle, and in the Worth dress, was not with- 
out partners. Miss Nancy regarded her anx- 
iously, and remained silent. Was this the 
shy, rather constrained bride of Mulcher’s 
Hotel in London ? 

Now, Miss Hawse, I have a fine plan to 
propose,” she continued, glibly, and not tak- 
ing the trouble to read the doubt in her com- 
panion’s honest gray eyes. Let us go over 
to Monaco for a moonlight night, and find 
Kichard. Mother would only scold, so she 
need not know, and it is such a lovely spot 
in the evening.” 

Is Richard at Monaco, then ?” inquired 
Miss Nancy, soberly. 

Yes ; there is no other place to go, you 
know ; but he promised to come back for the 
matinee. We will punish him by going too ; 
he need not think that he is to have all the 
fun.” 

^^Emma Vidal, I wonder you are not afraid 
to have him go to Monaco, a place that ruins 
so many victims every year.” 

Mrs. Vidal’s eyes grew round with aston- 
ishment; then a little flush of resentment 
passed over her features. 

Richard does not play ; he is only a spec- 
tator, and it amuses him to watch the others. 
Besides, he is with the duke, and he is dead 
set against gambling. You make him quite 
furious if you only hint at the subject.” 

It would seem that the young couple made 
very great acquaintances, knew every body ; 
among others the duke, living almost incog- 
nito at the H6tel Louis d’Or, and this dis- 
tinguished personage had taken up Mr. Rich- 
ard Vidal. Miss Nancy reflected before as- 
senting to the project. If Richard Vidal 
was at Monaco, it was best to go there, as a 
duty not to be evaded, for none could fore- 
see the result. 

The moon possesses everywhere in Europe 
a different charm, whether resting on ruins, 
and rendering them solemn and beautiful 
ghosts rising from the immortal past, or the 
gay life of cities, the silent lagoons, and 
bridges of old towns; but nowhere has it 
the fairy beauty bestowed on the tiny prin- 
cipality of Monaco. Just as the sunshine 
imparts loveliness to this garden spot made 
to blossom by art on the rocky promontory, 
gives the sea additional amethyst tints as it 
laves the cliffs, and adds to the mountains 
a richer purple color, so the moon, looking 
over the rampart of hills behind, adds the 
bewitchment of her power, converting the 
rainbow dyes of day into purest frosted sil- 
ver. 

The palms quivered in this mellow radi- 
ance ; unseen flowers yielded their perfume ; 
a fret-work of delicate shadows rested on 


the marble whiteness of the Monte Carlo 
terraces ; the sea, a soft gray sheet extend- 
ing to the horizon, broke on the shore in 
luminous ripples with those whispering, in- 
articulate voices coming as fainter warnings 
from the great deep. How many eyes, fe- 
verish with desperation and despair — the 
madness most inexplicable of human fail- 
ings having mounted to the brain — have 
looked up at that starry heaven, so calm 
and immutable, before rushing into the 
darkness of suicide ! How many ears have 
heard in the whispering voices of that heav- 
ing sea the echoes of a lost life, and hasten- 
ed anywhere out of the world ?” A place 
accursed as perhaps is no other spot on earth, 
with the sunbeams playing upon laughing 
waters, and the moon chastening to silvery 
fret- work of light and shadow the most ex- 
quisite forms of nature, and flowers per- 
fuming the passing breeze. 

Two ladies climbed the steps from the 
eight-o’clock evening train. 

^^Are you not glad that we came?” de- 
manded Mrs. Vidal, laughing gayly. 

Yes ; but I don’t like being here without 
a gentleman,” demurred Miss Nancy. 

Oh, every one does it,” responded Mrs. 
Vidal, carelessly. ^‘You were provoking 
not to come in season to dine at the Hotel 
de Paris. Why, epicures pronounce it the 
best dinner to be obtained in Europe.” 

On this point Miss Nancy had been firm; 
she would not come over earlier on the 
chance of finding Richard Vidal in the fa- 
mous banquet hall. She felt anxious, and 
doubtful about the step she had been i)er- 
suaded to take even now, and paused out- 
side the Casino with the strongest reluc- 
tance to enter. The night was pure and 
restful, with the mountains forming deepest 
shadow behind, and the sea breaking almost 
at their feet. 

The doors of the Casino had no sooner 
opened than they found themselves, by start- 
ling, almost bewildering, contrast, in anoth- 
er world — one of heat, blinding light, noise, 
and moving throngs. The concert was al- 
ready in progress in the handsome salle. A 
man darted past them swiftly, wearing no 
hat, and glanced at Miss Nancy with a look 
she never forgot, and his disappearance into 
the night was followed by the sharp rei^ort 
of a pistol-shot, which the strains of the or- 
chestra speedily drowned. The man had 
shot himself on the door-step. It was one 
of those unpleasant instances of ingratitude 
deplored by Monsieur Blanc. What would 
you have ? 

The world will play : if rich, as a pleasant 
excitement ; if poor, with the hungry desire 
to reap a fortune easily in the spinning of a 
roulette ball; and Monsieur Blanc, driven 
from Homburg by inexorable Kaiser Wil- 
helm, has made a tropical paradise for his 
victims, receives them with sweet strains 


100 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


of classical music as his honored guests ; if 
they disapprove of trente et quarantey feasts 
them on choicest viands, and includes wines, 
if they happen to he addicted to the pleas- 
ures of the table. Then to have a wretch 
with gray, set face blow out his brains on 
the door -step in malice, and to make the 
evening unpleasant. Fie ! Monsieur Blanc 
would fain expect a better return from hu- 
man nature. 

A second man had just emerged from the 
salles a jeu, paused irresolutely and glanced 
into the concert-room, stroked his mustache, 
and retraced his steps the way by which he 
had come. An English dowager joined her 
young daughters, who made a place for her 
on a velvet seat; her distrait manner and 
nervous biting of the lips betrayed that she 
had lost. The music of the spheres would 
fall on dulled ears if the gambler were cal- 
culating the changes of another set of num- 
bers promising lucky and fresh combina- 
tions to attain a desired result. Another 
lady had buried her face in her lace pocket- 
handkerchief, and yielded to a tempest of 
tears in the vestibule, while one of the of- 
ficials conversed with her in half-contempt- 
uous tones. Monsieur Blanc desired nei- 
ther frowns, nor tears, nor pistol-shots — only 
smiles and gayety in his dominions. 

These bubbles floated from time to time 
in the outer eddies of the great central 
maelstrom, the salles a jeu — another world, 
indeed, from the pure moonlight, the wide 
stretch of sea, outside. Miss Nancy^s face 
had grown grave and white ; Mrs. Vidal shiv- 
ered and became subdued ; neither could es- 
cape from the haunting vision of a desper- 
ate creature driven to bay who had been 
swept past them, and in the stroke of a min- 
ute launched recklessly on eternity. 

^^I wish we had not come,’^ murmured 
the younger woman, half fretfully. 

In the superb rooms beyond the muffling 
baize doors the illumination was still more 
brilliant, the interiors more richly deco- 
rated, but the tables were rendered invisi- 
ble by the standing crowd about them. A 
dangerous crowd, where each man suspect- 
ed his neighbor, and was utterly faithless as 
to the apparent respectability covered by a 
good coat. The first persons to observe the 
two new arrivals were the croupiers — pale, 
composed-looking individuals, who scented 
strangers, weighing and measuring them as 
if by instinct, while languidly raking in the 
coins. At last they had reached the goal. 
Here was the snare that lured people thou- 
sands of miles; chandeliers like gilded cones 
were suspended above green tables, where 
gold and silver leaped and spun from place 
to place, or lay in little glittering heaps be- 
fore the greedy eyes gloating over the pre- 
cious metal, or fell with musical chime into 
expectant palms stretched out to receive. 
Money leaping, spinning, falling in dazzling 


heaps! This was the spectacle knowing 
no satiety, this the enchantment for which 
fathers beggared their children, and sons 
brought their parents to ruin, on which 
women staked their souls. 

Miss Nancy feared to search the faces, 
those impassive lineaments of the experi- 
enced gambler which betrayed no emotion, 
not the quiver of a muscle, the vibration 
of an eyelash, at heavy loss, at stupendous 
gains. A young woman sat opposite with 
pale aquiline features, beautifully dressed, 
composed as if in her own drawing-room, 
and presently emptying her purse of the last 
napoleon, watched it ingulfed, and moved 
away. Two old men with snowy hair sat 
next, also imperturbable in outward aspect, 
a lean, wolfish resemblance in their profiles. 
Was Richard Vidal here ? and, if so, had he 
resisted the potent, subtle influence of the 
room all this time ? 

Mrs. Vidal reached over and tapped a 
stout, middle-aged gentleman on the arm 
in friendly greeting. He turned, and in so 
doing revealed Mr. Richard Vidal seated at 
the trente-et-quarante game. 

Richard, you promised not to play ! 
Come away directly, sir.” 

It was not the first scene of the kind en- 
acted at that table. A croupiers thin lips 
curved into an ironical smile. The stout 
gentleman was the duke. His manners were 
very elegant, and he immediately overwhelm- 
ed the ladies with polite attentions. Rich- 
ard Vidal rose from his seat with a laugh ; 
his face was flushed, the veins in his tem- 
ples were swelled to cords, yet his mouth 
and eyes perpetually smiled. 

I have been winning like the mischief, 
Emmy. My pockets are full of gold; and 
it is very good fun, I can tell you.” 

If there could be collusion between crou- 
pier and fate, it would seem to be exercised 
in this curious spell of sorcery: a novice 
almost invariably wins at first, and is de- 
lighted. 

‘‘I don’t like Monaco,” said Mrs. Vidal, 
pensively, in the returning train. ^‘You 
must promise never to go again, darling 
Richard.” 

So darling Richard ” promised unhesita- 
tingly. The duke smoothed his mustache, 
perhaps to conceal a flitting smile of amuse- 
ment. 

I wonder what all the missionaries are 
about?” suddenly exclaimed Miss Nancy. 

If a second Peter the Hermit should arise, 
he could scarcely find a better field for a 
crusade, needing armor of steel, fervid elo- 
quence, and all the heroism of a reformer, 
than to preach to the multitudes as they 
flock to Monaco.” 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


101 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

MISS NANCY IS ENTERTAINED BY A MARQUIS. 

On the 20tli of January, the gave at Nice 
presented its usual animated appearance as 
the hour revolved toward three, travelers 
with wraps and hags being interspersed with 
excursionists to Monaco attired in silk and 
velvet, the jewels intended to sparkle be- 
neath the golden chandeliers of the Casino 
curiously out of place in a dirty salle d’at- 
tente. Miss Nancy Hawse stood in one cor- 
ner mounting guard over a pile of hags and 
baskets, while Mr. Richard Vidal, in the line 
before the ticket-office, from time to time 
waved his hand re-assuringly to his moth- 
er-in-law, as she hovered anxiously between 
the two places. 

There is so much official red tape about 
these Continental railways that I only won- 
der passengers ever get through at all. The 
idea of turning us hack to have the ticket 
stamped! Oh, you need not laugh. Miss 
Hawse, in that aggravating and superior 
way. We shall see who comes out best in 
the end.” 

Mrs. Sharpe made these observations to 
Miss Nancy, mounting guard over the hags 
in the corner, when she wheeled about in her 
walk. Mr. Vidal having pressed up to the 
pigeon-hole, and thrust his head forward 
into the aperture, remained so long motion- 
less in the attitude that visible signs of im- 
patience became manifest in the line behind 
him. Necks were craned, heads nodded, and 
the pass-word was given with a certain de- 
spairing resignation. 

Monsieur has a Ullet circulaire f” 

Presently monsieur came away, glancing 
about in rather a puzzled manner. 

Richard, what is the matter now de- 
manded Mrs. Sharpe, planting her umbrella 
before her in the attitude usually assigned 
to, a fairy godmother. 

^‘He says that this sort of affair is stamp- 
ed at the other office,” returned Mr. Vidal, 
slowly, and still glancing around. 

Then hurry, hurry, for gracious sake ! or 
we shall he too late for a seat,” cried Mrs. 
Sharpe. 

Then followed a rush, a clamor of voices, 
a ringing of bells, a hissing of steam, and the 
two ladies were seated in the train moving 
away toward Genoa. The last person they 
saw was Richard Vidal, bright and happy as 
usual, and the last reflection of Miss Nancy’s 
was on the singular reluctance of the young 
couple to quit this spot. 

She had waited w^eeks for them, partly in 
dread of making the plunge into Italy alone, 
and partly because Mrs. Sharpe desired also 
to journey toward Rome ; but with the Vi- 
dals the following Monday or Thursday was 
a limit so vague that it receded before them 
like a ray of light. Richard had kept his 
word, and went no more to Monaco without 


his wife, which was a compromise perfectly 
satisfactory to both. The spell of the Rivie- 
ra thus lengthening out was broken finally 
by outward events, coming in the form dear 
to all American hearts abroad. The Regis- 
ter. Reading this sheet one day. Miss Nan- 
cy discovered that Dr. Pierman and family 
were on the list of Maquay, Hooker, & Co., 
Rome ; and in another column of the same 
paper she found Mrs. L. Cocks and Mr. Rock- 
well Cocks ; Oppenheim, Neroue, & Co., Cairo, 
Egypt. Miss Nancy’s heart beat a little fast- 
er as she read. Was this separation of inter- 
est temporary or final in the two families ? 

The trifling incident of discovering these 
familiar names in a newspaper changed the 
tenor of a letter which she was about post- 
ing to her young friend, Howard Denby, in 
Loudon. She tore up the already completed 
epistle, and, couchiug her commendation of 
his decision to personally undertake the su- 
pervision of work in South America in an- 
other form, urged him not to again turn his 
face toward the New World without first 
having seen Rome. Miss Nancy infused into 
her letter some of her own enthusiastic ven- 
eration for the Eternal City. It became evi- 
dent before the fourth page was completed 
that Howard Denby w^as sui)ine if he allow- 
ed this last opportunity to slip away, and 
examples were quoted of students and art- 
ists from all lands, fired with the resolve to 
reach that shrine, if they begged their way, 
or went on their hands and knees toward 
the tulfillment. Miss Nancy did so dislike 
to be beaten, have her own weapons turned, 
and foiled! In response to the letter, How- 
ard Denby, apparently moved by her argu- 
ments, agreed to visit Rome in the month of 
February, and hoped to find her in that city 
when he arrived. 

He may come the first or the last of the 
month, and I will not fail to meet him,” said 
Miss Naucy, with a recurrence of that mo- 
mentary fright at her own power which had 
possessed her when she took Blanche Pier- 
man to the H6tel Cluny. 

After that she had shaken off the spell 
resolutely, and announced her intention of 
starting the following week with such an 
expression of determination that the young 
Vidals were thrown into confusion, Richard 
looking irresolute, and Emma pouting, for 
Mrs. Sharpe had jiinned her faith on her new 
friend, and declared she would move like- 
wise. Dire confusion indeed ! With week- 
ly dances at the H6tel Louis d’Or, with prom- 
ise of races and Carnival, with receptions 
on Sundays and other days, and the Vidals 
launched so gayly on the current of a whol- 
ly new experience, intoxicating in its airy 
charm of novelty, it was provoking to bo 
torn away. A convenient peg had been dis- 
covered whereon to hang the mantle of fur- 
ther delay : there was to be a charity ball 
of surpassing magnificence, and a second 


102 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


Wortli dress had been ordered for it by the 
indulgent bridegroom. Wonld not Miss Nan- 
cy wait ? No, Miss Nancy could not wait. 

^‘Then I shall go also/’ exclaimed Mrs. 
Sharpe, firmly. 

Oh, had you better do so ?” cried Miss 
Nancy, involuntarily : she was thinking of 
the Louis d’Or, and the Worth toilets, and 
the new acquaintances made so freely by the 
young people. Nor was she relieved by the 
alacrity with which Richard Vidal consign- 
ed his mother-in-law to her keeping, prom- 
ising fervently to follow next week, just as 
he liad waited in Paris. 

The train moved away, and Mrs. Sharpe, 
taking out her ticket, again surveyed it. 

I don’t care ! I am glad that I did buy 
it,” she said. If any thing goes wrong, it 
will be all Cook’s fault for not having an 
agent at Nice this year. Why, that man 
has a deal on his conscience ; for, after pass- 
ing us along so charmingly from Paris to 
the South, every official bowing low in rec- 
ognition of the little green book, he might 
know that people would buy some sort of a 
through ticket to save trouble; if not his 
own, then the next best thing.” 

I prefer to keep my trunk with me, and 
buy a ticket at each station ; although I 
would have taken Cook if such accommo- 
dation were to be obtained,” rejoined Miss 
Nancy. 

Mrs. Sharpe, on the contrary, had pur- 
chased the ticket of a French company, and 
her luggage had been consigned to the 
Grande Vitesse, to be examined at Rome. 
The billet furnished ample opportunity for 
study. It consisted of a neat volume of 
three pages, with such preliminaries on the 
outside as these lines : 

Service Internationale entre la France et I’ltalie. 

Servizio Internazionale fra la Francia e 1’ Italia. 

Cherains de fer de Paris a Lyons, et la Mediterranee 
de la Haute Italie, Komains. 

1. CZasse.— Agence de Paris — Succursale de Nice. 

Agenzia di Parigi— Succursale diNizza. 

BILLET DIRECT. 

De Nice ^ Rome par Ventimille, G6nes, et Pise. 


Valable pendant 10 jours, avec trois arrSts facultatifs 
sur le parcours Italien de Ventimille a Rome, au 
choix de Voyageur. 

Ah, you will have the ordeal of exami- 
nation on the frontier, while I shall escape,” 
added Mrs. Sharpe, with malicious glee, and 
folded again her lengthy document. 

At Monaco the train paused to deliberate- 
ly disgorge the majority of its freight of hu- 
man beings in a dispersing crowd on the 
platform — the Belgian gambler, with rifle 
and powder-flask for the pigeon - shooting ; 
the English gambler, in tweed, with a dog- 


ged expression ; the dapper French gambler, 
small and with absinthe - drinker stamped 
on sharpened features ; the Polish gambler, 
sallow and lank ; the cosmopolitan gambler, 
hook-nosed, with huge black mustache, lean, 
hungry, alert, preying on all the world. 
Fresh German girls ; tawdry provincials gaz- 
ing stupidly at Paris fashions; the priwia 
donna of the period, with velvet train sweep- 
ing the ground, silk stockings and high- 
heeled shoes mincingly apparent, and auda- 
cious hat, made the curious contrasts dis- 
coverable in all great flelds of life. Dia- 
monds (paste), finery, vice, flaunting riches, 
and pinching, disreputable poverty, all has- 
tened to one golden goal. 

Turning, with eyes refreshed and senses 
purified, to nature once more, Miss Nancy 
found the Riviera charming beyond power 
of description in the parting glimpse of 
mountains and sea. 

^^Love and remember us,” breathed the 
hills from purple depths and raviues, where 
the light seemed imprisoned among heights 
draped in vines, citron, myrtle, and aloe, 
crowned by gray churches and white con- 
vent walls nestling in the sun-steeped hol- 
lows. 

‘^Love and remember me,” echoed the sea 
in myriad minor tones, lapping rocky prom- 
ontories, and stealing into many a bay and 
inlet, with break of white foam and emerald- 
green waves. Does departure give addi- 
tional richness to the snnset? The rock 
masses were amber-yellow in the red light 
which flooded the sky and sea, streaming 
over the shore a warm tide of effulgence, 
and then, meeting the already blue, cold 
shadow of the mountains, died in that em- 
brace with might and death. Along the 
curve of shore Monaco, bathed in amethyst 
mist, stretched an arm of rock out into the 
sea, which glittered like a liquid jewel with 
the softest rose sheen melting to pearl on 
the horizon, and deepening to topaz nearer 
land. Breaks of dismal tunnel alternated 
with glimpses of green vineyards, stretches 
of water, and bold headlands, dark, rich- 
brown at the base, succeeded by ingulfing 
darkness of tunnel again. These rapid 
changes had the tantalizing attraction of a 
kaleidoscope, ever shifting form and color, 
or the glow of a painted window set in the 
gloom of a cathedral wall. 

Mrs. Sharpe hated tunnels; and the Vidals, 
with malice prepensej^ had assured her that 
each of these excavations between Nice and 
Genoa was in a very shaky condition, being 
propped up with beams. She now clutched 
Miss Nancy to affirm, 

I felt the train grate on the track. Oh ! 
oh ! the atmosphere is stifling with sulphur 
and smoke ! They never publish the acci- 
dents which happen on the Continent in the 
newspapers, you know.” 

Did Miss Nancy wish that Mrs. Sharpe 


MISS NANCY’S 

had tarried at Nice to guard her children 
from the wiles of the enemy, fashion ? No ; 
she was used to the lady’s peculiarities, liked 
her, and found support in her companion- 
ship. Perhaps one of the chief pleasures 
3 ^et yielded by Uncle Simon’s money was to 
have bought Mrs. Sharpe a certain tea-cup 
of Dresden ware which she admired, for a 
Christmas gift. Mrs. Sharpe made tea in 
her own dominions of an afternoon — all the 
ladies did in the Pension Cosmopolitaine — 
and Miss Nancy had it somewhat on her con- 
science that her friend, while preparing her 
a second portion on one occasion, had been 
the victim of an accident. Mrs. Sharpe’s 
Etna had blown up in the most vicious man- 
ner, rebelling from slavery, and taken off a 
part of her left eyebrow. Then Miss Nancy 
had bought the cup, there being something 
so delightful and inconsequent in making 
such a purchase without reference to cost. 

Tunnels, mountain depths, a cove brim- 
ming like a crystal cup filled with palest blue 
waters, and the coast gradually changed to 
sudden blackness, while the sea still glowed 
with the waning glories of day. Thus the 
frontier at Ventimiglia was reached ; most 
wretched of stations, with a gloomy build- 
ing looming up in the growing dusk sug- 
gestive of the old form of surveillance, loss 
of temper, and suspicious investigation of 
passports, as if each foreigner must be a 
criminal in disguise. 

I have no baggage to be investigated,” 
said Mrs. Sharpe, descending in triumph 
from the railway-carriage. 

Miss Nancy felt a little heart-sinking of 
doubt ; perhaps Mrs. Sharpe had been right, 
and she all wrong. Absorbed in this mis- 
giving, she had shown her ticket in a flurry 
of haste, and was pushing her way toward 
the waiting officials, when she was arrested 
by a cry: 

^^Miss Ha-awse! What does this creat- 
ure want f ’ 

Mrs. Sharpe had been detained by the 
ticket-inspector, while all the other passen- 
gers filed into the waiting-room. Miss Nan- 
cy, skurrying back, demanded in faltering 
Italian to know what was amiss. The in- 
spector, a man of stupid aspect, seemed at 
first smitten by paralysis at sight of Mrs. 
Sharpe’s truly imposing UUet; then he fum- 
bled wildly, read, and reread the pages help- 
lessly. 

^^Ask him to take it home for the even- 
ing, to peruse at his leisure. We can wait,” 
said Mrs. Sharpe, her voice tremulous with 
auger. 

This sarcasm was lost on the guard, and 
Miss Nancy, with frantic combination of 
English and French, could no more move 
him to haste than the grim building with 
its blackened roof. Finally he tore the 
middle leaf half out, then hesitated, and, 
as well as Miss Nancy could make out, an- 


PILGRIMAGE. 103 

nounced an intention of keeping the Ullet 
altogether. 

No, no !” cried both ladies in agitated 
chorus. 

The guard folded the Mllet^ and walked 
along the platform ; they followed protest- 
ing, and were relieved to discover that he 
only intended to submit it to the chef de gave,, 
a stout, military individual, who blinked af- 
fably, and restored it. 

Leaving Mrs. Sharpe to recover her com- 
posure, and have her bag marked. Miss Nan- 
cy sped in search of her trunk, valuable mo- 
ments having been already wasted by the 
unforeseen delay. Oh, yes, there was still 
time. Two gloomy officials, standing in a 
large space, were gloating over a small heap 
of luggage which was scarcely sufficient com- 
pensation for many hours of ennui and idle- 
ness. Miss Nancy’s trunk was brought in 
as she appeared. The first official gazed at 
her beneath heavy, beetling brows, and de- 
manded, 

Madame, have you cigars or tobacco to 
declare ?” 

Miss Nancy smiled j the ordeal would be 
an easy one if these questions were in the 
form. 

No, I do not smoke, monsieur.” 

The second officer, stooping to chalk her 
trunk, raised himself erect, regarded her 
with surly animosity, and demanded her 
keys. Simple Miss Nancy ! if instead of 
protestations you had bribed the expectant 
official just at that critical moment. Per- 
haps the lack of previous fees that day had 
imbittered his disposition. Miss Nancy was 
such a suspicious-looking personage travel- 
ing alone, that, with the most provoking 
and agonizing deliberation, the officer took 
every article from the trunk, peered between 
the folds of dresses, and tapped the very bot- 
tom and sides. He had a precedent to es- 
tablish with the American traveling public, 
that his favors were not so lightly to be cast 
aside, and Miss Nancy was the victim. Vain 
to wring her hands as her most cherished 
possessions were thrust back in dire con- 
fusion, and the lid closed down ! Vain to 
explain to those heartless sphinxes of the 
customs that she had been told no such or- 
deal was considered necessary in the pres- 
ent day ! 

The voice of Mrs. Sharpe was heard again 
from the platform bewailing the non-ap- 
pearance of her comrade; the train was 
ready, and all the other passengers seated, 
while Miss Nancy still waited for the magic 
cross of chalk to be placed on the trunk. 
With what exasperating deliberation did 
the surly official complete his investigation, 
lingering over a lace veil as if regretful 
that there was no more to be done ! The 
lid would not close. 

^^You will be left. Miss Hawse,” cried 
Mrs. Sharpe, tapping on the window-pane. 


104 


MISS NANCrS PILGEIMAGE. 


Thus summoned, and with the awful vis- 
ion of spending the night at Ventimiglia 
before her eyes, Miss Nancy went down on 
her knees, wrenched the bolts into place 
with Yankee vigor, snapped the lock, and 
said. 

Oh, how I wish I could speak Italian ! 
Wouldn’t I give you a piece of my mind, 
though 

A man, made shadowy by long hair and 
masses of beard, stood on the platform, smok- 
ing his cigar deliberately, and in marked 
contrast with Mrs. Sharpe, whose agitation 
led her to follow the fat military chef about 
in urgent solicitation for the release of Miss 
Nancy, and a seat. 

He will not open a carriage ; they are all 
reserved. Miss Nancy, have you any small 
money 

The shadowy man flung away his cigar. 

Madam, he is bound to give us seats; 
only never attempt to hurry an Italian. All 
these people expect to be bribed by you 
Americans, because you throw your money 
away right and left,” he said ; and the fat 
chef finally unlocked a carriage, hopefully 
reserved for some grandee or a “ tip ” until 
the latest moment. 

Thank Heaven! we have got through 
that alive,” said Mrs. Sharpe. I suppose 
you see the advantage of having your trunks 
sent by Grande Vitesse now, and not opened 
here.” 

Your ticket made an unfortunate delay;” 
retorted Miss Nancy, with some tartness. 

San Remo appeared through the softly 
gathering darkness with hint of shadowy 
gardens and outlined walls here and there ; 
then Bordighera, still permitted to send its 
famous palms to St. Peter’s, with olives, 
pines, and lemon-trees on the slopes. Ruin- 
ed towers occasionally became visible, erect- 
ed for protection against pirates, and more 
than once a deserted castle as weird and 
lonely as the imagination of Mrs. Radclift 
need depict. 

The shadowy man, with a pallid face set 
in the frame of superabundant hair, con- 
versed in a low, monotonous tone, and took 
but a sombre view of life, due in part to his 
own shadowy self. He shuddered at the 
North, he despised the Riviera ; to the dis- 
eased nature, weary of the strife with cling- 
ing illness, there is no rest on the broad, be- 
nignant earth ; and he finally electrified his 
companions by observing, casually. 

No doubt you are going on to Italy, la- 
dies. Then beware of malaria. Rome and 
Naples are vast cemeteries of your people, 
and especially of the young.” 

After that it seemed perfectly natural that 
the shadowy man should consult his guide- 
book, and where the darkness rested most 
profoundly on a little obscure station melt 
away into the night. 

Well, he is a cheerful companion,” said 


Mrs. Sharpe. I should like to employ him 
if I were visiting the Catacombs ; but I must 
say, on a railroad with so many tunnels he 
makes the blood run cold.” 

Roccabruna; Eza; then Gogolito, birth- 
place of a certain great navigator, where a 
poor tavern is still shown as his cradle ; 
then the city of Genoa, twinkling with 
lamps; and in the Piazza Acquaverde, Co- 
lumbus, on marble pedestal rising toward 
the blue -domed heavens, sparkling with 
wintry stars, and set below with a wreath 
of lesser stars of gas. What need to tell 
how our travelers were immediately install- 
ed in a palace, with marble steps, marble 
corridors, marble apartments, vast and dim- 
ly lighted, and marble beds ? Or how Mrs. 
Sharpe’s courage failed her when consigned 
to one of these chambers, which would have 
served for a ball-room, and she, contempla- 
ting hangings like a funeral catafalque, il- 
luminated by two feeble candles, begged to 
be allowed to bivouac in Miss Nancy’s quar- 
ters, scarcely inferior in size, where dull por- 
traits of men in armor, dames in Venetian 
lace and fur mantles, and one faded Madon- 
na, gazed down from the walls with eyes ren- 
dered hollow and watchful by the shadows ? 
What need further to detail how the ladies, 
making a tour of inspection, candle in hand, 
discovered a secret door behind the most 
cadaverous knight, and held solemn council 
together whether a chair, a pair of tongs, a 
wash-bowl, and a tin foot-bath, placed prop- 
erly, might not interfere with the descent 
of midnight marauder by this ingress, and 
awaken the whole hotel I 

The marauder did not come, awed by these 
preparations, and the night j)assed in peace- 
ful slumber. 

Bright, palatial, attractive Genoa ! How 
doughty was your fame in olden time ; cele- 
brated as a harbor from remote antiquity; 
vast mart under the Romans for products of 
the Ligurian sea ; a republic under a doge 
in the tenth century, and acquiring valua- 
ble possessions in the East, and rearing citi- 
zens who participated in the Crusades ! What 
fierce wars you waged with your rivals, the 
Pisans and Venetians ! Barred windows, city 
gates, and the massive door-ways, palazzi 
Rosso, Doria, Tursi, and Balbi still suggest 
days when the Doria and Spinola (Ghibel- 
lines) strove for supremacy with the Grimal- 
di and Fieschi (Guelphs); when Tuscany 
hurled the satire at its opponent on the 
shore : Mare senza pesce ; montagne senza 
alberi; uomini senza fede; e donne senza 
vergogna.” How did you thrive after that 
sarcasm, standing to-day with broad piazze 
clean swept and white in the morning sun- 
shine, and arcades surrounding the market- 
place, filled with vegetable stalls and bas- 
kets? 

Church and cathedral have sombre walls 
like fortresses still. Palaces, rich with mass- 


MISS NANCY'S 

ive carving ; arches, revealing glimpses of 
court, stairway, garden, and gallery have the 
oddest familiarity. America boasts no such 
architecture. What is the link of resem- 
blance? All Shakspearean stage- scenery 
and drop-curtains reproduce Genoa. Juliet 
leans on such a balcony as that on the cor- 
ner of the square yonder; Desdemoua de- 
scends such terraces — in pasteboard — to the 
stage, with yellow-satin sleeves to her gown, 
and w'hite brocaded petticoat, as necessary 
accompaniments to the promenade. Bright, 
beautiful Genoa! needing only the velvet 
doublet, the silken hose, and the plumed hat 
of the gallant. Here are the narrow streets 
of the old town, in some cases mere broken 
flights of steps between the high buildings, 
or passages that seem cracks, the fissures of 
massive masonry ; again expanding to suffi- 
cient width for one carriage to pass between 
rows of shops glittering with exquisite Gen- 
oese ware, some panes revealing pyramids 
of silvery frost-work, and others heaps of 
gold. 

The first glimpse of the Italian is emi- 
nently picturesque, according to tradition ; 
a cloak drapes his form in bandit guise, 
flying back gracefully over one shoulder. 
The women wear black veils on their heads 
in a wind piercingly cold, and shiver on the 
curbstone. Two priests with fine features 
may stand conversing together in a gate-way, 
one fair and mild in aspect, and the other of 
olive complexion, eager and quick in gesture 
and expression. In the square Cristoforo, 
imposing and dignified, supported by kneel- 
ing America, on the i^edestal of ship prows, 
with allegorical figures of Religion, Wisdom, 
Geography, and Strength grouped below, 
Cristoforo gazing toward the harbor, the 
blue Mediterranean, and the America of the 
future, with roses blooming at his feet, blos- 
soms unfolding, swaying softly and scatter- 
ing perfume on the January day, not more 
fragile and fleeting than we at the base, ow- 
ing so much to this marble man gazing ever 
toward the sea. 

Next day Mrs. Sharpe and Miss Nancy 
were driven to Pegli, prepared to visit the 
noble Marquis of Pallavicini, with his gra- 
cious permission. The ladies were in good 
spirits, and proud of their own achievements 
in the purchase of filigree-work ; and their 
carriage was a neat one, with glass windows, 
having a joint in the middle, which made it 
eminently desirable to support the top pane 
tenderly on a parasol. Nothing more was 
necessary to render Mrs. Sharpe’s mood one 
of subdued hilarity than to explore dark lit- 
tle shops filled with old bits of bronze, cop- 
per pictures, coins, and worm-eaten frames, 
where she reveled in unheard-of bargains 
with the proprietors. 

I wish that we could import a little cheap 
public driving to America,” she said. Why 
the whole people do not rise en masse and de- 


PILGRIMAGE. 105 

mand a cab system, I can not divine. Two 
francs an hour for this carriage !” 

The coloring of the bay would seem un- 
natural in a picture,” observed Miss Nancy, 
irrelevantly. 

A black ship rested on the blocks of a ship- 
yard, with a house of mellow pistachio-green 
tints in relief against bow and keel. Be- 
hind was the deep-blue of water sweeping 
away to a line of purple hills, their summits 
sharply cut glacier peaks rising toward the 
sky, and taking gradually a warmer glow 
from the sun until they resembled rosy, 
floating clouds. 

The city ramparts and gates were passed ; 
then succeeded a stretch of shore, houses de- 
creasing, watch-towers and villas increas- 
ing, and then — the groves of Pegli. At the 
caf4 the ladies alighted, jind walked up the 
long avenue rising toward the spot where 
stood the unimpressive yellow mansion 
known as the Villa Pallavicini. The wind 
came, keen and bracing, from the hills ; the 
bay sparkled, and broke into crisp ripples; 
roses, creamy yellow, as if sunshine had been 
garnered in their velyet petals, and dewy 
crimson, grew along the hedges, looped in 
sprays through the mass of shrubbery. 

^^How they used to talk about snow at 
Genoa, in Nice!” remarked Mrs. Sharpe. 

These blooming roses look like the depths 
of arctic winter.” 

The snow must melt rapidly in this 
fiery sun, so that the plants scarcely sufter,” 
said Miss Nancy, mildly. 

Suffer ! Japonica-trees look like snow, 
do they not ? Why, the hotel proprietors 
in the Riviera get up those fibs to detain 
people longer, my dear, and then simpletons 
like ourselves believe them.” 

Oh, do you think so ?” said Miss Nancy, 
much impressed by her friend’s penetration. 

The square, yellow mansion lost insignifi- 
cance when the marble steps were ascended, 
and the broad marble balcony, with its tes- 
selated pavement, was reached, commanding 
a view of hills, city, and harbor. Here was 
the retreat of the Italian noble in the mid- 
summer heat. Sheltered from the tropic- 
al noonday in these cool, shaded halls, he 
strolled forth languidly in the moonlight, or 
beneath the stars on this balcony, to inhale 
the sea-breeze, all the hours of darkness fra- 
grant with the beauty of a world over which 
night had drawn a veil. The gardener was 
a stumpy man, with bronzed skin, gold rings 
in his ears, and shrewd, twinkling eyes. 
Moreover, they were in no danger of getting 
lost, while in any labyrinth they were fur- 
nished with such a clue as the odor of gar- 
lic exhaled by the guide with every respira- 
tion. From the terrace paths led to depths 
of shrubbery so rich in perfected verdure 
that the white road seemed to cleave waves 
of a green sea on either side, and the transi- 
tion from yellow -walled villa, with snowy 


106 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


marble terrace and glittering sea, in a step 
to the twilight of overhanging boughs and 
interlacing branches, formed a contrast the 
more charming that it was unexpected. Oc- 
casionally the glorious brightness of the Ital- 
ian day parted the dusky foliage, as if with 
merry, wayward fingers, and the sunshine 
fell on leaves of waxen surface in a golden 
rain as of distinct drops, brilliant and scin- 
tillating. Here grew the camphor-tree, with 
its aromatic scent; thickets of japonica, re- 
vealing carmine buds tightly rolled in a spi- 
ral form ; tall, slender palms from Brazil, 
with fronds so delicate that they seemed 
mere penciled lines against the sky ; cedar 
of Lebanon, draped in its ample, flowing 
mantle of green from top to root ; and euca- 
lyptus stripped of bark, with graceful crest, 
hope of Rome in the future, where the poor 
monks of the Campagna drink nauseous de- 
coctions of it to ward off the deadly attack 
of malaria. 

Miss Nancy was in a trance of delight. 
Loveliest forms of nature and art were all 
about her, blending to an exquisite whole ; 
the murmur of flowing water came from ev- 
ery thicket ; not a crest of the hill, not an 
angle of the path neglected to form perspec- 
tive glimpses of the sea, or the hills rising, 
sere and grand, behind the city, the rocky 
surface being slaty gray, with lavender tints 
toward the summit, and on the highest peak 
were the ruins of a monastery. A triumph- 
al arch spanned one avenue ; farther on was 
a belvedere with floor of glistening tiles, 
and vista between the pillars of branching 
paths, where cushions of terra cotta, seem- 
ingly piled on the grass, and lounges of iron 
flligree, invited to repose, where the full 
beauty of statuary is best seen, with the 
natural background of trees and daylight 
softened by the shadows of passing clouds. 
In the peasant’s house, rude, mossy, and 
dark, with a Virgin Mother hung on the 
wall. Miss Nancy had said. 

He is coming.” 

Two gentlemen had then advanced along 
the path, raised their hats courteously, and 
passed. Mrs. Sharpe was a trifle embar- 
rassed : she had declared that if another car- 
riage drove up the avenue, their own might 
do so also, until she had been restrained by 
the information that the other equipage 
held the proprietor. Here he was, then — 
the noble marquis in person, who received 
them in his Genoa paradise. Miss Nancy 
could not refrain from observing him with a 
pensive and speculative curiosity which may 
be permissible in a republican. He was a 
young man of slight build, and he wore the 
universal black billicock” hat, which has 
been adopted by the whole civilized world, 
certainly without reference to becomingness. 
Miss Nancy would rather have beheld him in 
armor, with a bright sash knotted over his 
shoulder, and a long rapier by his side, or in 


a robe of velvet, fur-bordered, a parchment 
roll in his hand. 

Faith in the gardener with ear-rings, gar- 
lic - perfumed, alone led Mrs. Sharpe down 
to an entrance guarded by an iron -barred 
portal, which he unlocked with a huge key ; 
and thence extended the caves, a labyrinth 
of artificial rock-work, where stalagmites al- 
ready form, nature aiding the fantastic la- 
bor of art ; where four hundred men wrought 
for eight years to complete these fairy grot- 
toes, these casements draped in vines, these 
subterranean depths of profound blackness. 
Mrs. Sharpe was becoming bewildered and 
alarmed, despite the voluble re-assurance of 
the guide, when a pale light glimmered over 
the cave, most weird and strange in effect, 
a fringe of crystals glittered above the last 
arch like the white edge of snow on a preci- 
pice ; the light grew to pallid green, flood- 
ing the rocks with broken sparkles and rip- 
ples, and they became aware of water below, 
where an old man stood up in a graceful 
boat awaiting them. The emerald transpar- 
ency of the water made it appear less pal- 
pable than a liquid element, but rather a 
soft vapor curling in beneath the low aper- 
ture of entrance, where the old man in the 
shallow boat was suspended by magic, float- 
ing in this delicate mist. For a moment 
they were dumb ; the shallow boat swayed, 
the old man — stunted and crook-backed — 
held an oar poised, from which drops fell 
slowly like jewels, one by one, with musical 
splash. 

When persuaded that the transparent em- 
erald medium was actually water, and the 
stunted oarsman not Charon, Mrs. Sharpe 
reluctantly stepped into the boat, and they 
emerged on a mimic lake. 

I call this lovely,” cried the good lady. 

I should think that our city parks at home 
might learn something here.” 

The little sheet of water was bordered with 
banks ornamented with a Turkish kiosk, 
surmounted by a dome resembling a golden 
orauge; a Chinese pagoda, gay with strings 
of flower-like bells ; and an obelisk, some- 
what new in aspect, as if placed there for 
the purpose of mocking Miss Nancy with its 
hieroglyphics. In the centre of the lake 
rose a Grecian temple, shrouding its deity 
in purest marble, while Tritons rose from 
the wave to spout with expectant conch- 
shells. Tiny gilded bridges spanned the 
stream, and Flora invited the disembark- 
ed to her shores with wealth of flower par- 
terres, herself expectant on the brink, while 
Psyche hovered behind, like a cameo on 
background of vert antique. Here was an 
interior of most lavish design, floor of mo- 
saic, windows of stained glass catching the 
glow of yellow sunshine, and ceiling resem- 
bling an inverted Sevres dish of deep blue, 
with exquisite figures in relief. What a re- 
treat in which to read the volumes of the 


MISS NANCY’S 

library in the alcove when life was sinking, 
pulseless, beneath the drowsy heat of August 
noonday ! — verses of Tasso, Petrarch, or Al- 
fieri; and when eyelids drooped, freighted 
with the languor of nature inclining to 
dreams, a glance down the sweep of flower- 
bordered path to the silvery lake, its central 
temple outlined in pure contrast against the 
rocky arches of the grotto, the steep rise of 
hill beyond, might lull to sweeter repose. 

As the ladies paused on one of the bridges, 
a second boat shot out of the grotto; the 
noble marquis was following with his friend, 
also making the tour of the lake. Be- 
tween the bridges was a golden hoop in 
which a chair was suspended, pendulum 
fashion. The gardener, smiling good-nat- 
uredly, invited the ladies to swing. 

“ Why, it is a swing, and so pretty !” ex- 
claimed Miss Nancy, admiringly. 

The boat of the marquis paused on the 
lake, its occupants watching the strangers 
with a certain amount of interest. 

Perhaps he means it for a polite act,” 
said our heroine, hesitatingly, as the garden- 
er renewed his solicitations. 

Had the gardener received orders from 
the waiting boat? Possibly Italian ladies 
did swing, although it was rather a childish 
amusement, and — Miss Nancy seated her- 
self in the chair, smiling affably. The pen- 
dulum moved in the golden hoop. Mrs. 
Sharpe withdrew to one side, and, as she 
did so, suddenly beheld her friend veiled in 
spray. What had happened ? Countless lit- 
tle water-pipes were unloosed by Miss Nan- 
cy’s movement, liquid threads proceeded 
from the gravel, from behind the plants, en- 
emies in ambush, and wept down upon her 
devoted head from the hoop rim : the whole 
space was a labyrinth of concealed jets ca- 
pable of keeping up a cross-fire to a consid- 
erable distance. 

Poor Miss Nancy, astonished and bewil- 
dered, gasped, and sprung out at the risk of 
dislocating an ankle. Mrs. Sharpe scream- 
ed loudly, and received a spray full in her 
face. The boat glided away, and methinks 
there was a smile on the countenance of the 
marquis. Mrs. Sharpe was simply speech- 
less with indignation. Miss Nancy tried to 
make the best of it, and the gardener offi- 
ciously brushed her damp raiment as if it 
were the best joke in the world; yet me- 
thinks also that the fee received by that 
same gardener at the gates was considera- 
bly influenced as to size by the prank. 

Perhaps the Italians think this funny,” 
Mrs. Sharpe remarked, dryly. Every part 
of the world must have its own idea of fun, 
I suppose.” 

Let us remember the privilege of visit- 
ing the lovely spot,” said Miss Nancy, some- 
what ruefully. Perhaps they are not used 
to seeing ladies alone, and therefore did not 
respect us.” 


PILGRIMAGE. 107 

This view of the case was peculiarly ex- 
asperating to Mrs. Sharpe. 

^‘If they do not recognize a lady when 
they see her in these countries, tacking a 
man to her train will not make her any 
more of a one,” she retorted, vehemently. 

A military funeral was transpiring as they 
returned to their hotel. The hearse, with its 
sable plumes and ornaments of oxidized sil- 
ver revealing within a velvet pall covering 
the hero, and with his cocked hat resting on 
top, stood before a time-stained old building, 
from which the heads of women, tied in silk 
handkerchiefs, peered forth from upper win- 
dows. Opposite was along stretch of chrome- 
tinted wall fringed with human beings; boys 
blooming, like Murillo’s beggars, munched 
chestnuts, and tossed down the shells; an 
old man, skinny and wrinkled, wore a peak- 
ed brown hood that showed a vivid scarlet 
lining. 

Now the martial music swells to a mourn- 
ful dirge ; the soldiers march in a desultory 
fashion, arms reversed ; their officers, mag- 
nificent-looking men in blue and silver, twirl 
their mustaches, and glance from side to side. 
The hearse moves, preceded by priests in 
embroidered vestments ; an acolyte bearing 
a huge gilt cross, and a band of the Miseri- 
corde with candles, guard the corpse. The 
populace streams in between the ranks, 
laughing and chattering fishermen in red 
night-caps, trim cadets from school, and the 
figures now familiar to New York curb- 
stones, brown velveteen coat, yellow hand- 
kerchief around the brow, and black beard. 
Heads peer from the grated windows at the 
show, the soldiers march, the music rises and 
falls, the hearse moves to the church guard- 
ed by the hideous black brotherhood. 

‘^The Garden of Paradise must be like 
that,” said Miss Nancy, thoughtfully, that 
evening. Trees of graceful symmetry, per- 
ennial flowers, harmonious forms, and that 
rain of golden sunshine.” 

‘^Without the water -jets, let us hope,” 
added Mrs. Sharpe, with a grimace. “ My 
cravat was as wet as a rag ; and if ever I 
wished to slap a man in the face, it was that 
gardener.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Galileo’s lamp. 

In the very depths of the tunnel the grind- 
ing sound of revolving wheels, the rattle 
and jolt of rapid motion had abruptly ceased 
— the train had stopped. For a moment 
every body held his breath in suspense of 
awful silence ; then a babble of questioning 
voices broke loose in unavailing inquiries. 
What had happened? Nobody knew; the 
fact alone was fearfully apparent that the 
train stood still, terribly still, and might 
either have been hurled from the track or 


108 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


suffer collision with another train before 
they again emerged into day. 

Miss Nancy looked fearfully across at Mrs. 
Sharpe, who had always threatened to imme- 
diately expire if detained in a tunnel. The 
lady, now that the emergency had come, did 
nothing of the sort ; she was so rigidly quiet 
that her compauion feared she had faiuted, 
until a stealthy movement toward her pock- 
et for a lurking smelling-bottle revealed the 
vitality of life. The train waited, the bab- 
ble of voices continued, the moments length- 
ened to a half-hour in the dreadful horror of 
such a situation. Miss Nancy shrunk in her 
own corner of the railway-carriage, a cold 
dew started on her forehead, and she prayed 
for deliverance from such a death as to be 
buried in this hole, feeling the oppression of 
the heavy, damp atmosphere already closing 
around her. 

Oh, blessed sense of relief in a first impulse 
of returning motion imparted to all the car- 
riages, one by one, when the train finally 
moved slowly out into the light once more ! 
The locomotive had discovered the supply 
of water to bo diminishing, had detached it- 
self with just sufficient steam to reach the 
next station in advance, had imbibed a fresh 
quantity, and sped back into the tunnel once 
more. Perhaps in no other country besides 
Italy could such a measure be taken with 
impunity, while here extreme deliberation 
on railways insures safety. The remaining 
trains would not have objected to waiting 
all day for that one detained in the tunnel. 

Daylight restored Mrs. Sharpe’s power of 
speech. She tore open her cloak at the 
throat, and put her head out of the window, 
at the risk of having it taken off by some 
projection. 

I knew it would happen !” she said, look- 
ing at Miss Nancy, triumphantly. If we 
had been run into and entirely smashed up, 
not a word would have been published about 
the accident. I suppose we might have been 
missed, in time.” 

Miss Nancy breathed a sigh of relief and 
gratitude ; while Mrs. Sharpe’s unexpected 
docility in a real emergency had not a small 
share of influence in bracing her own nerves. 
Marvelous transition from gloom to radiant 
noon ! The curving outline of shore was vis- 
ible in advance, laved by gentle ripples ; dis- 
tant cliffs stood out in purple hues, then 
melted to tender blue, as if the atmosphere 
were a soft, enveloping, gauzy tissue, and 
these were in turn replaced by other bold 
headlands. The sea was silvery white, and 
the line between pearly water and pearly 
horizon was marked only by little boats 
floating with their shadowy lateen sails 
spread. On the other side towered the 
mountains crowned by almost inaccessible 
villages, marked by spires and the gray 
olives, always with that smoky softness of 
verdure curling up their flanks. Tunnels 


again, longer, darker, more frightful, follow- 
ed by a glimpse of water, a rim of mount- 
ains, a parsing train crowded with soldiers 
in red caps, then a swifter rush into obliter- 
ating darkness as compensation for all the 
charm of the scene. 

Fold after fold of green slope and rocky 
precipice ; towns on the strand with narrow 
streets and tall houses built to exclude the 
summer sun ; Nervi, with its lemon-groves ; 
Bay of Rapallo, with its surrounding fertile 
plains, olive-oil traffic, and pilgrim church 
of Madonna di Montallegro ; Lavagna, with 
a ship now building, ancestral seat of the 
counts Freschi, where was born Sinibaldo 
de’ Fieschi, Pope Innocent IV. (1243), the 
powerful opponent of Frederick II. Roman 
aqueducts were visible in this old country, 
tilled since time out of mind ; ruins on the 
hills with daylight shining through disman- 
tled casements; dried water-courses span- 
ned with bridges ; then a break, and Spezia 
on its bay, with tbe Carrara mountains, the 
Alpi Aquane rising behind. Lovely Spezia, 
with limpid wavelets breaking on the shin- 
gle, and a calm sea, silvery white in the 
veiled sunshine of the balmy afternoon, a 
sea giving no hint of storm-gusts, yet capa- 
ble of drowning the poet Shelley so many 
years ago! 

What a leaf of history each of these towns 
might unfold if studied ! Here are Sarzana, 
birthplace of Nicholas V., who founded the 
Vatican library, where the Bonaparte fami- 
ly resided before Corsica became their home, 
a prize once held by Lorenzo de’ Medici, and 
wrested from him by Charles VIII. of France ; 
and the ruins of Luna, an Etruscan city, 
fallen to decay under the Roman Empire. 
The white cliffs and gorges gleaming in the 
opening of the hills are tbe marble quarries 
whence comes the marino statuario. Beyond 
Spezia the track wends inland, and all is 
changed. 

^^At least we can have no tunnels here,” 
said Mrs. Sharpe, after consulting the guide- 
book. As I am a Christian, we have passed 
through thirty -eight since we left Genoa, 
when I thought that horror was over on 
reaching the city. Miss Hawse, I believe 
you knew it all the while, and never said a 
word.” 

^‘I certainly read that we had quite a 
number more,” admitted Miss Nancy. 

Mrs. Sharpe sniffed her mnaigrette. 

That is always the way with you self- 
contained people! Keep every thing to 
yourselves, and then make a merit of it.” 

How will you endure Mont Cenis ?” in- 
quired Miss Nancy. 

I never mean to endure it. I will go 
home by sea,” retorted Mrs. Sharpe, with 
prophetic wisdom. 

The suu had set behind the range of ab- 
rupt peaks, leaving the clear sky tinged 
with daffodil hues. The land was a level 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. • 


109 


waste of swamp, with leafless trees, and the 
blue mist of miasma rising on the still even- 
ing air. Pools of brown water choked with 
plants varied the expanse of brown earth, 
with peasant huts of the same color, which 
resembled hay-cocks from their rud6 thatch- 
ing. The dreariness of a stone building, 
moldy, with a flight of steps outside, and a 
fire blazing on a wide blackened hearth, 
seen through a vista of open doors and win- 
dows, was in keeping with all nature. A 
donkey stood before a ruined tower with a 
bag on its back. A little girl, with a yellow 
handkerchief over her head, which seemed 
to have caught a faint reflection of color 
from the daffodil sky, paused by a ditch to 
gaze at the passing train with large, melan- 
choly eyes. What did the train mean to 
the lonely little maiden ? Her shadow flick- 
ered on the brown water, the reeds of mar- 
gin bowed and swayed, the hills grew dark- 
er in the sad twilight. In the distance was 
a town on the hill, built close together for 
strength in by-gone times ; andfrom tlie tow- 
ers floated the vesper bells echoing, answer- 
ing, chiming in sweet unison — the voice of 
this desolation. 

Talk about sunny Italy !” exclaimed Mrs. 
Sharpe. Can the dweller in these thatched 
huts, beside the brown waters reeking with 
fever vapor, do worse in America ? For my 
part, I no longer wonder that they emigrate 
with their hand -organs and monkeys and 
big eyes, and I shall always give them pen- 
nies, too, after seeing their homes.’^ 

As Pisa was approached, Mrs. Sharpe pro- 
duced that ticket with a timidity entirely 
foreign to her assurance in starting; she 
even held it with the aspect of fearing it 
might explode. Genoa had set its seal upon 
the leaf in questioning mood. Now Pisa 
was so much impressed with its value, that 
the official wished to pass Mrs. Sharpe along 
to Rome at midnight, alone and friendless ; 
only allowing her to escape into the town 
instead, after Miss Nancy, with extreme re- 
luctance. Oh for rescuing Cook and the 
little green book ! 

Pisa was to Miss Nancy, coming from the 
Riviera, the portal of Italian art. How 
mild the atmosphere, the sky dappled with 
soft cloudlets which promised rain, and 
quiet akin to desertion brooding over the 
empty streets ! Her heart went out to the 
beautiful old town extended along the Arno 
banks ; the peaceful sunshine of centuries 
seeming to rest on the river surface, on the 
once famous palaces grated and barred, on 
the cathedral. Campanile, and the silence of 
Campo Santo beyond. Here is supposed to 
linger that coy goddess known as Cheap- 
ness, but surely she veils her face to the 
casual traveler, and may be only lured from 
her retreat by the gradual acquaintance of a 
winter sojourn. Just as the blended tones of 
a coarse-featured old cicerone below become 


refined to airy echoes of angelic voices be- 
neath the baptistery dome, like the memory 
of the spot, so the calm sunshine, the brood- 
ing quiet, enshrine the old age of a once 
proud republic left deserted amidst its treas- 
ures. 

lu no other place would the strange, sol- 
emn Campo Santo’s erection be as fitting as 
in this Pisa, where Archbishop Ubaldi, after 
the loss of the Holy Land in 1188, brought 
the fifty-three loads of earth from Jerusalem 
for the dead to repose in ; where Giovanni 
Pisano completed the structure in the Goth- 
ic-Tuscan style ; arched windows of beauti- 
ful tracery overlook the green quadrangle, 
with Roman and Etruscan tombs below. 
Mohammed gazes up from purgatory toward 
heaven in the faded paintings of the wall, 
where human forms seem to writhe in in- 
tricacies all the more perplexing that f)or- 
tions have peeled off in the damp ; and, 
amidst ancient carvings and Coptic inscrip- 
tions, Niccolo Pisano himself stands in mar- 
ble, austere and frowning. The space of 
greensward in the centre flanked by the 
stone in slender columns and delicate cop- 
ing lay in sunshine, but a chill gust swept 
the galleries as if stirring the sacred dust 
with some intelligence of the living in the 
very footsteps ringing on the flags, where all 
would presently be silence again. 

“ It is almost a pity that any thing so love- 
ly as the Leaning Tower should be wrought 
into alabaster toys, and sown broadcast over 
the universe,” observed Mrs. Sharpe. Why, 
the colonnades of the separate stories make 
me laugh only to think how often I have 
run a pin between the tiny pillars of mine 
on the centre-table at home.” 

They were standing outside the cathedral, 
and the elder lady further opined that one 
would shoot from the perpendicular, at least, 
in the ascent of the Campanile, which she was 
disposed to respectfully decline. 

‘‘ Now we must see Galileo’s Lamp,” said 
Miss Nancy, with excitement ; and they en- 
tered the cathedral. 

There it swung in the nave, the bronze 
lamp of Galileo, set in motion inadvertently 
before the master’s watchful eye while mass 
was transpiring. Was time also then set in 
motion ? Rich temple of worship, the gate 
to the loftier magnificence of St. Peter’s, this 
cathedral. For the first time in her life, Miss 
Nancy saw altars of lapis-lazuli, sienna-red^ 
and wrought leaves of pure white marble ; 
pavement of mosaic from the palace of Ha- 
drian ; the sixty-five ancient Greek and Ro- 
man columns captured by the Pisans in war 
— for the shrine was erected after a naval 
battle near Palermo in 1063 ; and the bronze 
door of the twelfth century, Crociera di S. 
Ranieri, in the south aisle. The magnifi- 
cence of the edifice was a reality, and if she 
closed her eyes it did not vanish away ; space 
became limitless above her head until ar- 


110 


MISS NANCY’S PILGKIMAGE. 


rested by the flat -coffered ceiling, richly 
gilded, and the vaulted aisles with triforia 
above them, which cross the transept to the 
choir. The gigantic Christ of Cimabue, in 
mosaic, gazed down as if none could escape 
the all-seeing eye; while stairways wound 
up to galleries once used by the women, 
and tiny mysterious doors were visible far 
above the great altar. The facade, adorned 
with columns and arches in the lower sto- 
ries, and four open galleries in the upper 
diminishing in length before the eye, and 
the imposing choir, held Miss Nancy spell- 
bound. 

The awe inspired by height and breadth 
alone in a cathedral, in which the details of 
decoration are merged — lost, like minor 
chords in the full harmony of an organ — 
when entered for the first time can not be 
overestimated, and must be an impression 
forever new. Porphyry columns designed 
by Michael Angelo ; lovely St. Agnes of An- 
drea del Sarto ; the genius of Niccolo Pisano, 
traceable in wondrous carving ; Giovanni di 
Bologna; Christ on the Cross; and bronze 
angels, lustrous marbles, mosaics, ebony; and 
beneath the gleam of golden ceiling Galileo’s 
lamp, swaying through all the revolutions 
of years. 

These Miss Nancy studied, one by one, and 
fain would have lingered longer alone and 
silent in the place, fascinated by that gigan- 
tic Saviour of the dome, and his all - perva- 
ding presence, which gave sanctity to the 
church in the reverence of the artist’s inten- 
tion, however singular the fulfillment. This 
was the Cimabue, father of painting, who 
groped with the first elements, as it were, 
and created those angular Holy Families, 
mere drapery relieved by a face, hands, and 
feet at suitable distances, according to pre- 
scribed rules observable in the human body, 
which were borne in procession of delighted 
worshipers to the altars they were intended 
to adorn. A Roman colony, a fighting re- 
public, a crumbling old town robbed of oth- 
er possessions, but cherishing still the beau- 
tiful group of buildings in the Piazza del 
Duomo. 

At four o’clock in the afternoon, Mrs. 
Sharpe paused on the corner of a street, and 
read a sign over a shop with a reflective as- 
pect. The two ladies had been very good, 
as Mrs. Sharpe expressed it, in the matter 
of buying up Pisa that day. They had 
steadfastly resisted the charm of tiny horses, 
so delicately carved in alabaster that they 
seemed formed of snow which would pres- 
ently melt ; sturdy oxen dragging carts ; 
Graces poised on tiptoe ; Cupids creeping 
out of fluted shells ; and tablets with the 
transparency of gum - camphor. They had 
confined their collection of photographs to a 
dozen or so, and set their faces against mod- 
em bronzes. Now Mrs. Sharpe paused at 
the corner, and surveyed the shop, impelled 


to enter by its very dinginess of aspect. 
The street was narrow, and wholly obstruct- 
ed farther on by an old belfry tower of deep 
chocolate-brown tint, while the neighboring 
walls were soft gray and yellow. 

SIG. CASTRONI, 

Via St. Frediano 11, 
ProprietariOt Maggiori d’ Antichitd, 

The door had glass panes, which served 
as a show-window for the display of a saint, 
colored faintly on ivory, with a nail through 
her forehead, and a Madonna greenish with 
age. This door showed a hospitable desire 
to swing open — with the warning of a crack- 
ed bell — on rusty hinges, to the imminent 
risk of overturning a tray of majolica-ware 
on a rickety table. The interior was scarce- 
ly more than an arch, white -ceiled, with 
walls of chrome-yellow, and stone floor with 
a gutter-like depression in the middle. Pict- 
ures lined the place, in some instances time- 
darkened to indistinguishable obscurity; a 
maroon curtain draped a second sunken 
door in the background; stiff chairs, richly 
carved ; crowded cabinets, heaped with en- 
amels, coins, cameos, and china. In the cen- 
tre of the place was a counter containing a 
silver Cupid in bass-relief ; medals of queens ; 
the pearl ear-rings, set with rubies, of the 
Tuscan peasantry; Byzantine saints; carv- 
ings of the Madonna in gilded shrines ; an 
exquisite figure of St. Francis Xavier in pure 
ivory, with a halo about the head, and deli- 
cately chiseled hands folded over the cruci- 
fix. 

The proprietor was invisible, a guileless 
faith being reposed in the honesty of the 
American traveling public. Several urchins 
gathered in the street outside — one bearing 
earthen jugs of water, suspended on a hoop, 
from the fountain — as if the aspect of Mrs. 
Sharpe and Miss Nancy were peculiarly in- 
teresting to their youthful observation. Mrs. 
Sharpe immediately yielded to the fascina- 
tion of the spot. She raised a cloud of dust 
by dragging forth an Oriental cimeter from 
beneath a pile of rugs; she knocked over 
boxes and frames in reaching after unattain- 
able miniatures; and it was a pleasant sight 
to see her pause before a casket containing 
seals, snuff-boxes, and huge rings which 
might have been worn on giant thumbs, fin- 
gering these relics lovingly. Suddenly she 
became mute : she had raised a corner of the 
maroon curtain, and was peering beyond. 

Miss Nancy did not heed the movement 
of her companion : she had discovered a can- 
vas in one corner which absorbed her atten- 
tion. Plain Miss Nancy, from Briarbush, in 
a gray traveling-dress, stood with a thrill of 
wonder and delight before the portrait of a 
patrician who claimed her homage with a 
certain regal grace. Time could not dim 
the rich coloring of that portrait, the charm 
of the eloquent face, the magnificence of the 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


Ill 


costume ; the obscurity of a little shop in a 
narrow street, instead of lofty palace hall 
domed with frescos and panneled with satin, 
could not hide the woman who sparkled like 
a brilliant amidst the dross of much imita- 
tion. A small, elegant head framed in pow- 
dered hair, well poised on a firmly molded 
white throat ; cheek and chin softly rounded 
by youth^s dimpling touch ; and eyes, dark, 
limpid, unfathomable, gazing down on the 
spectator with the calm hauteur of one placed 
on immeasurable heights above, yet com- 
manding admiration. Miss Nancy looked at 
the dark eyes which absorbed the whole in- 
terest. She no longer saw the swelling bust 
shielded by Venetian lace, the bodice of gold 
brocade, the ruby velvet mantle clasped on 
the shoulder with an aigret, the taper fin- 
gers extended and merging into wrist and 
arm, the fiesh which the masters made so 
real — almost to the touch. Pride chilled 
her sympathy, and yet there was some shad- 
ow of mournful appeal in the expression, as 
if this fate of oblivion was foreseen. The 
lady on the wall spoke to Miss Nancy, and 
she could not resist the appeal. 

^^The school of Paolo Veronese, and an 
original,” said a voice in Italian. 

The proprietor stood at her elbow, regard- 
ing her calmly. He was a handsome man, 
with dark beard and classical nose, and that 
dignified gravity observable among the Ital- 
ians. 

Oh, who was she ?” demanded Miss Nan- 
cy, a little flush of enthusiasm burning in 
her cheeks. 

^^Ah, one of the Medici, from a villa near 
Florence.” 

She dared not ask the price, and went on, 
summoned by Mrs. Sharpe, who was greatly 
excited. That lady emerged from behind 
the curtain clutching a panel. When she 
saw the proprietor she endeavored to con- 
trol her elation, and bowed to him affably. 

They say you should never look pleased 
with any thing in Italy if yon intend to 
buy,” she whispered. 

As if the proprietor, with his grave, hand- 
some face, did not understand her perfectly 
well, despite his ignorance of the English 
language ! Mrs. Sharpe had found a picture 
of St. Gregory, in mild and somewhat stiff 
youth, with a blonde beard, a halo about his 
head, and pen poised as if listening to the 
dove hovering above and directing his in- 
spiration. 

Giotto,” said the proprietor. 

'^Of course; I do not need to be told 
that,” returned Mrs. Sharpe, triumphantly. 
“ It belongs to the early days of art, and as 
such is most interesting.” 

Miss Nancy could only glance wistfully 
over her shoulder at the Medici princess 
glowing on the opposite wall. This time 
she read a new expression in the wonderfnl 
eyes; a flash of anger seemed to summon 


her back. Then ensued one of those inter- 
vals of bargaining in which ladies take pe- 
culiar delight. Mrs. Sharpe was especially 
proud of her skill. 

It is naught, saith the buyer, and goeth 
away, and boasteth,” often applied to Mr. 
Vidal’s mother-in-law. 

With the aid of paper and pencil, Gregory 
the Great was found to be valued at fifty 
francs by the owner. This reasonable de- 
mand encouraged Miss Nancy to faltering- 
ly inquire the value of the Medici beauty. 
One hundred francs. A court beauty for 
twenty dollars ! 

Offer him half,” advised Mrs. Sharpe, 
promptly. 

But the calm Pisan would not take half 
the sum. 

^^Then we must walk out. That is the 
way,” said Mrs. Sharpe, sotto voce, and lay- 
ing aside Gregory with feigned indifference. 
The courteous proprietor bowed low, as if 
he never expected to see them again in this 
world, and suffered them to depart without 
a murmur. Mrs. Sharpe was first aghast, 
and then indignant. These were the tac- 
tics in which she had been instructed with 
special reference to Italy, and they had sig- 
nally failed. They proceeded a square in 
silence, then Miss Nancy halted. 

I am going to buy the portrait, anyway. 
One hundred francs!” she said, with great 
determination. 

I will not do any thing so ridiculous as 
to go back and have the man laugh in my 
face,” affirmed Mrs. Sharpe. Still, if you 
have a mind to offer him forty francs for 
Gregory, I will take it.” 

Accordingly Miss Nancy returned, and 
again the urchins gathered about the door. 
Gregory had disappeared; the proprietor 
was sorting his coins and medals with great 
diligence. Who so amazed as he to behold 
Miss Nancy returning ? The court lady de- 
scended from the wall — she was too ancient 
to be rolled; and on the strength of this 
purchase the proprietor graciously sacrificed 
Pope Gregory for forty-five francs. 

Subtle charm of possession ! Miss Nancy 
tried again to read the court lady’s dark 
eyes with the aid of a candle before she 
went to bed that night. She had claimed 
her homage, commanded her to rescue her 
from the obscure little shop, even though 
the princess went across seas, and Miss Nan- 
cy had obeyed. 

One of the house of Medici, crafty, arro- 
gant, turbulent, and magnificent in the old 
days of Florentine supremacy,” mused Miss 
Nancy. Were you a Venetian bride, bring- 
ing new influence to that dark line ? Were 
you a daughter of Casimo or Fernando ? 
Where did you live, and how did you die, 
I wonder ?” 

The shadow of a smile seemed to ripple 
across the face from rosy arched lips to oval 


112 


MISS NAKCY’S PILGKIMAGE. 


check, the faintest reflection of cynicism, 
disdain, amusement ; it might have been the 
flicker of the candle flame. Fame that was 
never to die, beauty and grace that were to 
have been rendered imperishable by loyal 
chronicler, or court poet — this was the end 
of it all: the dark corner of a little Pisa 
shop, and ultimate purchase by a foreign 
woman from an unknown New World. Miss 
Nancy held the candle, and thought about 
it. The rich red of the velvet mantle im- 
parted a ruby glow to the figure, as if the 
artist had caught up the beautiful woman 
aud draped her in his own genius, and thus 
prevented her from fading into the total 
obscurity of that subduing background, the 
centuries. Dead and forgotten, with name 
extinct! For her, Nancy Hawse, of Briar- 
bush, the artist once dipped his brush into 
rainbow -blending hues of his palette, and 
the portrait had been rudely torn from pal- 
ace wall, where none were left to value it. 
Ashes to ashes, Medici princess, with only 
that ruby mantle between you and the ter- 
rible background of dusky twilight, where 
the flash of gems, the peach-tints of youth- 
ful faces, are no longer discernible ! 

To start from Pisa at noon was to bring 
Mrs. Sharpens Hllet to the surface once more, 
a necessity which both ladies viewed with 
grave concern. There was always variety 
in the ticket ; the possessor knew what w^ould 
next happen, and the reception met with at 
one city could be no criterion for another. 
Pisa at night had shown a disposition to 
pass Mrs. Sharpe on to Eome at twelve 
o’clock, in a train then forming. Pisa at 
noon mounted on the carriage-step jocosely, 
in the shape of a stout official with but one 
eye, aud demanded, Teeckets,” in English. 
When the one eye was brought within range 
of Mrs. Sharpe’s Mllet, silence ensued, while 
the official turned the leaves, and read every 
word of the fine print. 

Poor man !” remarked Mrs. Sharpe, grim- 
ly. ^^All these soldiers are kept waiting, 
too. There is a degree of power felt in 
checking Victor Emmanuel’s army with that 
ticket. Goodness ! has he finished ? I thought 
he would be another hour.” 

Here the official lapsed into voluble Ital- 
ian, in which it was impossible to decide 
from the energy of his manner whether he 
execrated or approved the system to which 
Mrs. Sharpe had fallen a victim ; but as the 
soldiers w^ere immediately stowed in third- 
class compartments, and other arrangements 
were completed, the ladies inferred that the 
railway at Pisa was able to resume its ordi- 
nary functions, Mrs. Sharpe’s ticket having 
been read. 

To approach Rome from Pisa at the sea- 
son when Miss Nancy did, is to have the 
wiugs of one’s fancy droop in the dismal re- 
ality. Hour after hour the train moved slow- 
ly along through a country that was one 


brown morass, dreary as the Dismal Swamp, 
more hopeless than Pilgrim’s Slough of De- 
spond. Evil odors rose from the stagnaut 
w^aters j life had fled to the hills, where a 
town was occasionally visible, built on the 
highest peaks. 

‘‘ If an accident happened here, we should 
be left all night in the ditch,” said Mrs. 
Sharpe, carefully closing the windows, and 
producing a carbolic inhaler. Nothing be- 
sides a few crows or such doleful night-birds 
would gather, I am sure. Oh, what a poi- 
sonous smell !” 

At eleven o’clock the moon shone out from 
masses of cold, gray cloud on the lonely 
scene ; the train increased speed percepti- 
bly, suddenly; and, like a i)hantom, the 
Claudian Aqueduct was stretching, arch be- 
yond arch, past the window ; farther on were 
fragments of wall and broken, dismantled 
masses of building. All was very solemn, 
ghostly, and unreal. 

Miss Nancy clasped her hands in her lap 
nervously, and strained her eyes for the next 
revelation. She almost felt the presence of 
father beside her, also watching, also yearn- 
ing for the revelation of the capital of the 
world. In the minister’s study how loving- 
ly they had lingered together, parent and 
child, over the history of her grandeur, con- 
quests, and fall ! Never to be repeated those 
hours of communion in the old homestead, 
when they descended from animated discus- 
sion concerning the Golden House of Nero, 
to grandmother’s twelve -o’clock dinner of 
beefsteak and apple-pie ! Solemn, ghostly, 
and dim was the plain beneath the pale 
moon, peeping forth from cold gray clouds. 
Then a gleam of water, a fleeting vision of 
valley, and the flash of myriad lights where 
the Eternal City lay, framed in surrounding 
darkness, like her own dead past. 

What is that light ?” asked Mrs. Sharpe, 
arousing from a nap. 

^‘Rome!” said-Miss Nancy, with sudden 
tears. 

Did the father also see ? 


CHAPTER XX. 

MISS NANCY REACHES THE PILGRIM’S SHRINE. 

The shrine had been reached at last! 
Miss Nancy had looked forward with such 
ardent longing all these years to the con- 
summation, and, behold ! she was unprepared 
to worship. What was anticipated? A se- 
rene sky, with the dome of St. Peter’s forev- 
er outlined above all other objects ; a Cam- 
pagna always blooming with flowers and 
verdure ; a Via Appia peopled with the 
ghostly armies issuing forth from the cradle 
of Romulus, or the pale shape of Zenobia 
led in triumphal pageant, stooping beneath 
the weight of her golden fetters. 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


113 


What was the reality ? Miss Nancy found 
dirty streets closely huddled about ruins 
which required breadth of space, the present 
clamoring for recognition above the voice- 
less, majestic past. How squalid the by- 
ways, the yawning, dismantled apertures 
once doors, the black interiors, the reeking 
pavements ! How evil the odors issuing 
from the garbage-heaps of years, from dingy 
edifices such as that one where the old wom- 
an sat at the shop entrance, like a bloated 
spider in the darkness ! How wretched and 
nauseating it all appeared, and, oh ! the wo- 
ful sense of disappointment, and the guilty 
feeling of being personally to blame for not 
falling into transports over the Eternal City. 

Were these broken fragments, contracted 
to narrowest limits from boundless imagina- 
tion, the Forums? Was that long building 
with windows actually the Capitol ? Was 
that stream the Tiber, yellow, horribly slug- 
gish in its course, as it flows past slimy, de- 
caying walls ? One would hesitate to dip 
in that river for purification ; and was it 
such a great achievement for Horatius to 
swim across ^^in the brave days of old?” 
Where do temples and columns end, and 
modern masonry begin? Most dreary and 
chill the Pamfili-Doria drive, after the ex- 
quisite beauty of Pallavicini — leafless trees, 
sombre pines, grass sere and yellow, shrub- 
bery bleak and unattractive, with the city 
indeed vast and imposing below, domes (all 
fashioned on the original Pantheon) rising 
here and there, and breaking the monotony 
of roofs. 

For three weeks Miss Nancy had been 
asking herself these questions, while the 
rain fell and clouds lowered ; asking and 
finding no answer until she climbed the 
many steps to the Raphael Toggle of the 
Vatican, and paused before The Transfig- 
uration,” and pondered over the curious 
history of Doraenichino St. Jerome, when 
the cherubs rescued from the monks of Ara 
Cceli smiled down upon her from the clouds. 
She had read and rambled about, feeling a 
shocking levity of irreverence, induced by 
intimate association with Mrs. Sharpe. Once 
she had gone to bed at night utterly spent 
in the struggle to kindle enthusiasm at 
seemingly extinguished torches, saying, sad- 
ly, I wish that I had never come. Then 
the ideal image would have always been 
cherished.” 

These desperate opinions she did not vent- 
ure to utter aloud, but stupefied herself by 
the convicting evidence of all great minds. 
Chateaubriand assured her that one who 
had nothing else left in life should live in 
Rome : “ The stones which crumble under 
his feet will speak to him, and even the 
dust which the wind raises under his foot- 
steps will seem to bear with it something 
of human grandeur.” Niebuhr delineated 
his profound emotions ; Hawthorne stated 
8 


that the heart-strings mysteriously attach 
themselves to the spot ; Byron struck a 
chord of surpassing beauty in praise of the 
lone mother of dead empires; Goethe, Cardi- 
nal Wiseman, Dr. Arnold, Madame de Stael, 
Martin Luther, and hosts of other poVer- 
ful intellects crushed Miss Nancy with the 
weight of their opinions, and she was dumb. 

Let it not be supposed that Mrs. Sharpe 
was similarly reticent. She expressed her 
mind freely at all hours of the day. 

The two friends had quarters near the 
cheerful Barberini Palace, on the charmed 
line of the Quirinal and Via di Quattrofon- 
tane, which malaria has never yet invaded, 
it is said. 

Mrs. Sharpe’s entry into the Eternal City 
could scarcely have been deemed a triumph- 
al one, owing to that ticket. At her jour- 
ney’s end she had let it fall from her fingers 
like a burning coal, still affirming that all 
the vexations of her trip were attributable 
to Messrs. Cook, Sou, & Jenkiu, who had de- 
luded her by their system, and then failed 
to have an agency at Nice. However, she 
was still disposed to flaunt in Miss Nancy’s 
face the advantages of not taking charge of 
luggage as the one sagacious element in the 
measure. 

Alas! Mrs. Sharpe’s trunks were not in 
Rome. Her countenance fell as the dread- 
ful fact became apparent, and possibly some 
chilling premonition of what fate had in 
store then assailed her. Adams Express 
Company would have delivered the lug- 
gage in twenty-four hours ; but the Grande 
Vitesse was not Adams Express Company, 
nor did it claim as much as a cousinly re- 
lationship with that important system in 
America. Generosity forbade Miss Nancy 
to smile, and she offered Mrs. Sharpe a fresh 
cravat from her store, which was indignant- 
ly declined. 

Two days passed, and the stranded travel- 
er bought linen collars and cuffs, in dire af- 
fliction, with an expression of countenance 
intimidating to a shop -woman; four days 
elapsed, and she made inquiries concerning 
a new dress-maker ; six days came and went, 
and she spent one whole morning in the most 
reckless purchases, a degree of temper in her 
extravagance. On the seventh day, she was 
notified that her worldly goods awaited her 
at the Dogana. 

Oh, indeed !” was the only comment she 
vouchsafed to make. Further, the Grande 
Vitesse, well satisfied with itself on the score 
of expedition, demanded the sum of one hun- 
dred and fifty francs as compensation. A 
commissionnaire accepted her keys, and went 
to claim her property. At evening-tide the 
trunks appeared, having a dusty appear- 
ance, as of ‘tramps” who had spent many 
nights on the road. This was not all : the 
custom-house demanded forty francs on an 
unmade dress, which she had purchased at 


114 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


the Bon March6 in a moment of weakness 
— it was so cheap. Mrs. Sharpe paid in 
gloomy silence, and retired to the contem- 
plation of her wardrobe, which was like a 
new acquaintance to her. At length she 
emerged, somewhat flushed and ruffled, and 
seated herself in the salon^ Miss Nancy watch- 
ing her with a sj'mpathy she dared not ex- 
press. 

^^From appearances I should judge that 
each custom-house officer had stood on his 
head in my large trunk in turn,^^ she said, 
dryly. Poor things ! Perhaps they have 
no better amusement. When a human be- 
ing called a man has sufficient curiosity to 
peep into a powder-box, and then insert the 
puff wrong side up, one pities him, because 
his sphere must be so very limited.’^ 

They tell me that women would escape 
much of this surveillance had they not 
smuggled so many cigars for their male rel- 
atives,’’ said Miss Nancy. 

Then they are very silly,” retorted Mrs. 
Sharpe. Cigars weigh more heavily ev- 
ery year against womankind. A cigar means 
a man’s own ease, selfish enjoyment, spend- 
ing his money on himself. How much did 
your baggage cost ?” 

Thirty francs,” said Miss Nancy : then 
added, slyly turning a leaf of the guide- 
book, ^ Never leave your luggage in cross- 
ing a frontier.’ ” 

How can you be so disagreeable. Miss 
Hawse, when you never opposed my buy- 
ing a through-ticket in the least ? If this 
is a Grande Vitesse, it would be well to start 
a box twelve mouths in advance of the time 
needful by Petite Vitesse, acknowledged to 
be slower.” 

During this period of depression and 
gloom. Miss Nancy saw nothing of the Pier- 
man family, and received no definite tidings 
from Howard Denby. 

The Coliseum wore the most savage as- 
pect possible for that noble ruin. Dark 
clouds lowered in heavy masses over the 
city, thunder rolled with peculiarly grand 
reverberations above the A^ast amphitheatre, 
as if the day of doom had come in reckon- 
ing of the crimes there perpetrated, light- 
ning dashed with fitful vividness about the 
base, and sleet descended. A vender of 
small wares shivered in the opening; a cab- 
man, nearly drowned in the sudden deluge, 
crouched on the box, scarcely less wretched 
than his smoking, disconsolate steed. Be- 
yond, a fringe of furze was visible, and grass 
dripped ; the green stagnant pool of water 
in the centre was ruffled into foam by the 
stinging blows of hail, the gusts of rough 
wind. Mrs. Sharpe and Miss Nancy stood 
beneath the arches, having descended from 
the cab, and were peering about them in si- 
lence. Need it be added, place and circum- 
stance being taken into consideration, that 
their faces were A^ery long indeed ? 


^^I told you that those clouds meant 
rain,” said Mrs. Sharpe. 

Miss Nancy only quoted for reply, and 
somewhat dismally, 

“ While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; 

When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ; 

And wheu Rome falls, the world.” 

Yes, my dear ; but I happen to have 
heard that before,” said Mrs. Sharpe. 

The weather is unfavorable, certainly ; 
yet it is a wonderful privilege to be able to 
stand here,” said Miss Nancy. 

No doubt, if you do not catch your 
death of cold, or get struck by lightning,” 
admitted the older lady. 

Try to picture the place and its uses,” 
began Miss Nancy. 

The less said about its uses, the better, 
I should think,” interpolated Mrs. Sharpe, 
without ceremony. What with your bru- 
tal emperors and your tortured gladiators, it 
is a good thing the Coliseum has become a 
deserted ruin.” 

Surely you feel reverence for the spot,” 
said Miss Nancy, mildly. 

Not the least bit in the Avorld,” affirm- 
ed Mrs. Sharpe, elevating her nose in the 
air. 

^^But you must not be flippant,” urged 
Miss Nancy, with increasing earnestness. 
‘^All structures are the shells of the build- 
ers, just as the coral polyps erect their reefs. 
Thus Vespasian laid the foundation on the 
site of Nero’s reservoir, building as far as 
the third row of arches; and Titus com- 
pleted the last two after his conquest of 
Jerusalem. Strange that the twelve thou- 
sand captive Jews should haA^e been em- 
ployed here, just as the race in bondage la- 
bored on the Egyptian Pyramids, unwilling 
hands constructing the great works of the 
world! This Flavian amphitheatre is the 
shell, not only of the ruler, but of the peo- 
ple as well ; the very wealth of its resources 
when despoiled by robbers, after the Orient- 
al monk Telemachus rushed into the arena 
to denounce the sports, and was stoned to 
death for his pains, revealed the inexhausti- 
ble splendor of the empire. What ravages 
it has suffered, and yet still maintains a 
semblance of its former self! The very iron 
cramps were wrenched out in the Middle 
Ages for other uses. Robert Guischard de- 
stroyed it to prevent its becoming a strong- 
hold of the Romans. The wars of popedom 
stormed and battered the walls, and from 
the fourteenth century it became a quarry. 
Cardinal Farnese, having extorted a promise 
from his uncle, Paul HI., to take as much 
stone as he could carry away in twelve 
hours, turned a horde of four thousand 
workmen loose for the purpose. The lovely 
old place, where so many martyrs shed their 
blood! Yes, and another pope, Sixtus V., 
having a practical turn of mind, tried to es- 


MISS NANCY’S 

tablisli a woolen manufactory where Corn- 
modus had fought in the arena, dressed in a 
liou-shiii, like Hercules, his hair powdered 
with gold-dust ; and Clement XI. would fain 
make saltpetre on a spot which Titus dedi- 
cated with the utmost maguificence even for 
a people satiated with the spoils of war, the 
luxuries of conquered kingdoms, when cranes 
battled with dwarfs, gladiators strove to- 
gether, and thousands of wild beasts were 
slaughtered. Not before the seventeenth 
century did civilization turn a fresh leaf, 
and begin to restore the scars made by 
demolition; for the first time appreciating 
the gift left to man by the centuries.” 

Humph !” said Mrs. Sharpe, you never 
have read about the mud and sleet, I sup- 
pose, as inducive to tranquil refiection on a 
vanished empire ? Where are the vines, the 
ilex and aliterins, the shrubs tufting the 
walls and green inclosure ? I see nothing 
but horrible stagnant water.” 

The water was sometimes used in mimic 
naval combats as representing the contests 
between the Corcyreans and Corinthians, for 
example,” said Miss Nancy, touching the ma- 
sonry with her finger meditatively, and con- 
sulting Baedeker.” Yonder is the podium 
reserved for the emperor, senate, and vestal 
virgins. The first stage with twenty -five 
steps was for knights and tribunes — ” 

Suppose we go home,” interrupted Mrs. 
Sharpe. If any thing is tiresome, it is to 
liave a companion keep one standing while 
poring over a guide-book.” 

You have not heard a w^ord about the 
martyrs yet,” said Miss Nancy, with some 
spirit. ‘‘ If any spot of earth is sacred, it is 
this amphitheatre, for the sufferings of the 
early Christians.” 

We will leave the martyrs until another 
day, if you please, although I can readily 
fancy the snarling and howling of wild 
beasts in such weather ;” and Mrs. Sharpe 
turned to the smoking horse, the crouching 
cabman, and even made a surreptitious do- 
nation to the shivering vender, with his lit- 
tle tray of mosaics. 

You take the most unfair advantage of 
me,” she continued, when they were seated 
in the cab. ^^I am fairly overwhelmed, 
hedged iu by your useful information ; and 
you need not tell me that you know every 
thing quoted without reading up on the sly. 
For my own part, Mr. Hare haunts my wak- 
ing and sleeping thoughts.” 

Miss Nancy sighed deeply, and murmured 
in a tone of dejection, quite foreign to her 
usual brisk manner. 

One seems to approach the ruins too 
closely, and the aspect of things is so dif- 
ferent from the anticipation. Photographs 
give you the detached columns, or a temple, 
without the common every-day objects sur- 
rounding both.” 

The thunder rolled, hail descended, and 


PILGRIMAGE. 115 

the Coliseum gathered about its desolation 
an awful grandeur from these elements. 

If this were not Rome we should pity 
ourselves for passing through such vile 
streets,” said Mrs. Sharpe, when the rattle 
of the cab -windows permitted her to be 
heard. These alleys cease to be even thor- 
oughfares, in a usual sense of the term, some- 
times, and are, instead, the mere tubes of 
a vast sewer, noxious with damp vapors. 
Were I a chemist, I would invent for tour- 
ists about to set sail from America an odeur 
de Borne, to acclimate the nose, as it were. 
The base of the perfume — if that is the 
proper term — should be strong cheese, and 
other component parts rancid oil, fish, gar- 
lic, elderly vegetables, and an occasional 
whiff of sausage.” 

Miss Nancy smiled faintly. 

I wish that those children would write, 
or come,” pursued Mr. Vidal’s mother-iu-law', 
with abrupt change of tone. Who could 
imagine that they would have lingered in 
Nice three weeks longer than ourselves ?” 

^‘Who, indeed?” echoed Miss Nancy, ab- 
sently. 

Really, Miss Hawse, I wish you were a 
trifle more lively as a companion. You have 
been absolutely duriipy ever siuce you ar- 
rived.” 

Thus the drive to the Coliseum termi- 
nated without enthusiasm. 

On this gloom and darkness suddenly ap- 
peared light, soft, yet intensely brilliant, in 
the glow of sunshine, and all was changed. 

Father Tiber, to whom the Romans 
pray, looks better this morning ; he has as- 
sumed a pale-blue mantle beneath his mane 
of yellow foam, and the change is not amiss, 
although he can never say much for him- 
self,” remarked Mrs. Sharpe, as the ladies 
sallied forth at nine o’clock in the morning. 

These historical rivers in Europe move me 
only to derision. The Thames was a pretty, 
brimming brook at Windsor, and the Seine 
and Rhone charming rivulets; but I marvel 
what our streams will be — Mississippi, Hud- 
son, Delaware, Connecticut, and Penobscot 
— when the events of centuries have ren- 
dered them famous. Bless me ! Miss Hawse, 
you do look spry this morning for the first 
time. How hot the sunshine is!” 

The cloud had vanished from Miss Nan- 
cy’s countenance, even as the pall of som- 
bre vapor, which had brooded over the city 
so long, had disappeared, melted into the 
depths of pure ether — a Roman sky. It 
was in the beauty shed by sun, with atmos- 
phere dreamy and languid, as if with the 
promise of spring warmth that the past 
spoke to her, claimed her reverence, brought 
her penitent to the shrine of her pilgrimage 
at last. How sorry and ashamed she was 
to have been influenced by mere outward 
circumstance like a child ! 

To-day the old Barberini Palace basks in 


116 


MISS NANCY^S PILGRIMAGE. 


the radiance of morning — the embodiment 
of Roman pride in Urban VIII., who carved 
the heraldic family bee in great places, and 
in one corner of the small gallery the beau- 
tiful face of Beatrice Cenci, gone abroad to 
the world in endless imitation, but never 
reproduced in the tender sadness, weariness, 
and dejection of farewell. 

To-day the ceiling of St. Maria Maggiore 
has a more brilliant glow, like half-molten 
coins, in Spain’s tribute of ceiling, gilded 
with the first South American gold, gift of 
pious Ferdinand and Isabella, which gleams 
far above the marble pavement. Did the 
gift shrive their souls of all the evil that 
gold represented, the bloodshed, cruelty, 
and greed its metallic beauty inspired in 
the breast of conquerors ? 

To-day the quaint and beautiful cloisters 
of San Giovanni Laterano, with arches sup- 
ported on twisted columns, the gilding worn, 
will bloom with violets in the central green- 
sward, like summer garnered between stone 
walls, while tendrils of vine cling to the 
rough masonry where the monk paces above, 
a moving form coming and going from light 
to shadow, himself an echo perhaps of the 
daily prayer which has ascended from the 
old basilica for fifteen centuries. 

To-day the Piazza di San Pietro is daz- 
zlingly white after the storm, in wide ex- 
panse of pavement, columns, the silver spray 
of fountains, and the obelisk brought from 
Heliopolis by Caligula, the fame of a cer- 
tain Bordighera family established forever 
on its elevation here under Pope Sixtus V. 
by the disobedience of sailor Bresca, who 
exclaimed, Acqua alle funi !” ’Tis an un- 
grateful world ; one man has his head cut 
off for a rebellion which elevates another 
man to popularity. 

Within the edifice is vast space, a delight- 
ful warmth of atmosphere, a giddy sense of 
awful height, and far in advance the gold- 
en ornaments of the haldacchino ; St. Peter’s 
lamps twinkling like a gigantic diadem. 
There is a drowsy hum of chanting audible 
in a side chapel, as if all Pope Urban’s bees 
were swarming in the shadow of Bernini’s 
Christ j” a fat priest sleeps placidly in a 
confessional, with folded hands. A shriek- 
ing baby is being baptized at one altar, the 
candles falling full on the faces of priest and 
assistant, with the rich altar behiud, stand- 
ing out in relief against surrounding dark- 
ness, and the fringe of spectators gathered 
about the rails, wholly obscuring the little 
Christian, whose thin wail rises, as if in pro- 
test. Two old women stand together peer- 
ing at the opening life, the candles also re- 
vealing their wrinkled fixces beneath hud- 
dling shawls, with color and pattern lost 
generations since. 

Now, indeed. Miss Nancy could feel that 
she was one of that numberless pilgrim baud 
stretching back through the years to Theo- 


dosius ; Belisarius ; Csedwallo, King of the 
West Saxons, demanding baptism ; Ceudred, 
Prince of the Mercians, ready to sacrifice his 
long hair on St. Peter’s shrine, and become 
a monk. A great company, forsooth. Ina 
of Wessex, who founded a church that Brit- 
ons might worship, and, in dying, find a 
grave ; Richard of England ; Charlemagne ; 
and, further back, Ethelwolf, bringing a 
child of six years, afterward Alfred the 
Great. All were gathered here. Miss Nan- 
cy, pilgrims like yourself in Constantine’s 
basilica, which seems to have sunk through 
the floor of the modern temple, with Giotto’s 
solemn heads peopling the darkness of crypt 
and nave. 

At twelve o’clock, Mrs. Sharpe had climb- 
ed the steps of San Gregorio, a spot of pecul- 
iar interest to herself from the purchase of 
the old picture at Pisa. How tenderly had 
Gregory been retouched, the holes of his 
canvas mended, varnish applied to his fad- 
ing robes, Mrs. Sharpe watching the proc- 
ess with satisfaction the while ! 

He was a very good and great man, my 
dear,” she said, pausing on the steps. His 
mother, St. Silvia, lived yonder ; and there 
is the little garden where he played as a 
child. Of all the beautiful legends attach- 
ed to his memory, springing up like flowers 
above a grave ennobled by generous deeds, 
that of his having sold all his goods for the 
poor, alone retaining the silver basin, gift 
of his mother, and then giving that to the 
shipwrecked sailor who came to his cell, is 
the most touching. One likes to believe 
that the sailor returned to him in dreams, 
years later, promising the blessing of God. 
Ah, the creed of any man need not be ques- 
tioned too closely, if his own nature prompts 
him to feed the poor and befriend the help- 
less.” 

St. Augustine knelt on the grass below, 
before departing as first missionary to En- 
gland,” said Miss Nancy. 

The deep-blue sky, so brilliant and limit- 
less, spread above them ; opposite rose the 
Palace of the Caesars in terraces and tower 
fragments, half concealed in luxuriant grass 
and shrubbery j beyond the Coliseum, mel- 
lowed in hue by the radiant purity of the 
atmosphere, was traversed by shafts of gold- 
en light between arches and open case- 
ments; Caracalla’s Baths towered in huge 
masses of masonry, vivid orange-red against 
the heavens ; almond-trees were blossoming 
beside San Gregorio in the fragrant fallen 
snow of bloom ; an orange-tree laden with 
fruit hung over the convent wall ; the breeze 
stirred with the promise of budding spring. 
Within the cloistered arches reposes the dust 
of Sir Edward Came, who came to Rome con- 
cerning that perplexing business of King 
Henry’s divorce from Catherine of Aragon ; 
farther on is the altar commemorating Greg- 
ory’s rescue of Trajan’s soul from purgatory, 


MISS NANCY’S 

aud the low door leading to the monastic 
cell where slept a man. in peaceful retire- 
ment for so many years, destined to rule on 
the overthrown ruins of Koman power. 

don’t care about the miracles, of 
course,” said Mrs. Sharpe, peering into 
chapel and garden ; but I do like his pray- 
ing for the heathen Trajan, because of the 
good he had done in his day; and I like, 
better still, the silver basin given to the 
destitute sailor.” 

The two friends had reached San Gre- 
gorio by that route which will inspire more 
solemnity and reverence in the human heart 
than any other — the Ccelian. Here are found 
few traces of palace or temple, save a hint 
of that raised by Agrippina, to the memo- 
ry of Claudius after she had feasted him 
on poisoned mushrooms ; but in the lonely 
lanes are ancient churches, separated by gar- 
dens and vineyards, each with a story, often 
fanciful fable, surrounding marble altars, 
inscriptions, and tombs of saints, yet his- 
torically belonging to the whole Christian 
world. SS. Giovanni e Paolo, with tall cam- 
panile, arcaded apse inlaid with colored tiles, 
and garden revealing the Coliseum through 
ancient cypresses ; Arch of Dolabella, with 
its hermitage above, whither was brought 
that holy man, San Giovanni di Matha, from 
Tunis, without inconvenience of sails, his 
crucifix serving both as rudder and compass ; 
Piazza di Navicella, with Nero’s aqueduct 
gaining rich coloring from the sunshine, 
and almond-trees blossoming in gaps of the 
ruins ; and San Stefano Eotondo, approach- 
ed by the little cloister; and Michael An- 
gelo’s well, chill, deserted, lofty, with only 
that terrible record of Christian martyrdom 
encircling the walls ; sutfering, agony, her- 
oism i)ast belief, there delineated in strong 
men and delicate maidens on the fading 
frescoes. 

^^They died for us, and they belong to us 
just as much as to the Romish Church,” 
Miss Nancy had said. I wonder how 
many Christians in this nineteenth centu- 
ry, in which religion is fashionable, would 
for their Redeemer’s name have hot lead 
poured down their throats, like Erasmus ; 
be roasted in a brazen bull, like Eustachio 
and his family; be torn in pieces by iron 
forks, like Margaret, or devoured by lions 
in the arena, like Perpetua and Felicitas. 
Now we can appreciate the Coliseum, Mrs. 
Sharpe.” 

Yes ; and how much better was the In- 
quisition, perhaps established by the de- 
scendants of the very people who thronged 
to see the early Christians killed ?” inquired 
that lady, promptly. 

Pausing on the steps of San Gregorio once 
more. Miss Nancy said, 

We had better leave St. Paul until an- 
other time.” 

No ; this is a day in a thousand,” replied 


PILGRIMAGE. 117 

Mrs. Sharpe ; and, as usual, she had her own 
way. 

How glad was Miss Nancy afterward that 
such was the case ! 

San Gregorio lay on the brink of that 
brown waste of Campagna which encroach- 
es so insidiously on life year by year. Above 
the fences of thatch, tied with ribbon -like 
reeds, the shrubbery showed green wands 
tipped with unfolding leaves, while the sil- 
very blossoms of the fruit-trees became more 
abundant ; and here were the old Roman 
walls, each angle and gate-way forming a 
fresh picture, all tufted with moss and yel- 
low-berried ivy. Gray oxen, dappled and 
mild-eyed, tinkled their metal bells as they 
dragged loads of straw toward the city ; 
the peasants guiding them had the sallow 
aspect of the fever-smitten, and beneath the 
hot sunshine of early spring the whole coun- 
try exhaled odors horribly suggestive of the 
dead. 

In that farm-yard is the spring, the fount- 
ain of Egeria, where Numa Pompilius is de- 
scribed as having had mysterious meetings 
with the nymph. Shall we go in ?” inquired 
Miss Nancy. 

‘‘I don’t care about your nymphs; and 
I do not believe in them either,” said Mrs. 
Sharpe. This is the road once trodden by 
St. Paul.” 

Ah, and here St. Francesca, disguised in 
a woolen garment, brought fagots from her 
own vineyard for the city poor on her head ; 
and Plautilla gave her veil to St. Paul,” said 
Miss Nancy. ‘^If we paused, we could find 
some object of interest at every yard con- 
nected with the wonderful journey of the 
great apostle toward martyrdom.” 

The Porta San Paolo was passed, with the 
pyramid on the right hand, landmark of all 
the Protestant world from the vicinity of 
the cemetery, relic of the Roman tribune, so 
ancient that Paul’s own gaze must have rest- 
ed on it as he trod the way peopled with the 
throngs from Ostia — sailors, merchants, as- 
trologers, and soldiers. 

One likes to believe that Peter was also 
here, and that the two parted at the spot 
where stands the little chapel,” mused Miss 
Nancy. And Peter said to Paul, ^ Go in 
peace, preacher of good tidings, and guide 
of the salvation of the just.^” 

The sunshine was also solemn here. As 
in the silence of the heights of Cimiez at 
Nice, there was quiet in the beauty of the 
day. Mrs. Sharpe was mute. San Paolo 
fuori le Mura, with pavements like a sea of 
glistening ice, and an atmosphere deadly 
cold after the warmth outside, when the 
leather curtain of separation once more drops 
behind the visitor. Vistas of granite pillars 
uphold the golden ceiling; altars of mala- 
chite, columns of Oriental alabaster from 
Egypt, statues of Paul and Peter, and those 
windows far above where saints and apos- 


118 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


ties shed a glow on the interior from crim- 
son mantles and robes of royal purple and 
blue. Could modern magnificence achieve 
more? In this very splendor, so polished 
and cold, there is somethiog hard and un- 
sympathetic. No tender memories has the 
structure to revive, save its site on the edge 
of the deserted Campagua, as had the old 
basilica rising in the vineyard of the Roman 
matron Lucina, who gave burial to St. Paul, 
from small oratory enlarged to temple, and 
enriched by every succeeding century in 
treasures of art, endeared by venerable asso- 
ciation. In the vast place one beholds Pius 
IX. and work of the present day ; contribu- 
tions levied on all countries to rebuild the 
shrine destroyed by fire in 1823 ; the wealth 
of princes heaped together, not for the glory 
of the great apostle to the Gentiles, but of 
the Church. 

Christ appears in the tribune mosaics with 
the four evangelists, as if rising against the 
golden background of sunset clouds, in the 
Giotto school, and beneath the arch is the 
confession ” where St. Paul is believed to 
repose. Light comes through the windows 
rich with the dyes of gorgeous raiment, but 
the pavement is a wide sea of glistening ice, 
and the breath clings around the lips as if 
about to congeal. 

Mrs. Sharpe and Miss Nancy hastened out 
after an inspection of the church, and con- 
fronted Mrs. Pierman. The lady had just 
descended from a carriage, and was giving 
alms to a woman whose face and clothing 
had one pervading hue of yellowish brown ; 
she was followed by Tommy, and the French 
honne, Marie. Mrs. Pierman’s aspect was 
somewhat pale, weary, and abstracted. She 
gazed at Miss Nancy with a slow scrutiny 
before extending her hand in recognition. 
It is possible to address a person as if think- 
ing of something else. Mrs. Pierman thus 
addressed Miss Nauey : 

^^How are you, Nancy? So, you have 
traveled as far as Rome. No doubt, you are 
enthusiastic about the Eternal City ; one al- 
ways is on a first visit. We find it rather 
dull : there are so few Americans this year. 
Come and see us when you have time. We 
stop at the Hotel San Vitale always.” 

Tommy stared at Miss Nancy without rec- 
ognition. The meeting in the Albert Hall, 
London, had beeS quite crowded out of his 
little mind by more recent events. The 
leather curtain fell after Mrs. Pierman’s re- 
treating form, and the other ladies drove 
back to the city. 

The English protected San Paolo before 
the Reformation, just as the Freneh do St. 
John Lateran, and the Spanish Santa Maria 
Maggiore,” said Mrs. Sharpe. 

Miss Nancy was hurt and perplexed by 
Margaret Pierman’s greeting, by Tommy’s 
blank lack of recognition. 

This has been a day in a thousand,” ex- 


claimed Mrs. Sharpe, gayly, again, as they 
reached their own door. 

A letter awaited her, such a long, closely 
written letter, with blots and erasures not 
noticed in the haste and excitement of pen- 
ning by the writer. 

Well, Emmy has .spoken at last,” and Mrs. 
Sharpe smoothed out the sheets for a leisure- 
ly perusal. 

Watching her from time to time with a 
dread she could not define. Miss Nancy saw 
her face change to perplexity, even alarm. 

See what you can make of all this,” she 
said, presently, giving the letter to her com- 
panion. 

Miss Nancy could make it out plainly 
enough. The letter was dated Leghorn, and 
Emma Vidal, in perturbation and distress of 
mind, acquainted her mother with facts no 
longer to be concealed. Richard had got in 
with bad company at Nice — persons in whom 
he was deceived — and had ruined himself, so 
far as available funds, and his paper given 
for more, could ruin him, at the game of bac- 
carat. There was a man calling himself a 
duke, when he was only a horrible gambler 
in league with other gamblers, Emma Vidal 
wTote, who had made himself very useful to 
poor Richard, just to cheat him. Her hus- 
band had not played much ; indeed, he had 
scarcely done more than learn the game, 
which was so rapid and clever as to the skill 
required that he lost heavily before he knew 
it ; then played at other times to make it 
up. And, indeed, it was not Monaco, be- 
cause she knew ; but only the clubs in the 
afternoon. Emma wished — oh! how she 
wished — that they had left the dear, delight- 
ful place before, and come to Rome. Rich- 
ard was very desperate and queer ; had gone 
straight to Leghorn, and engaged passage 
on the next Anchor steamship touching at 
that port. If mother would let them go 
home, and live in the old place for a year, 
they would be very grateful, and Richard 
meant to begin all over again. 

‘‘ Bless my soul !” said Mrs. Sharpe ; and 
they expect me to join them in sailing for 
America in less than a week. AVhat baccarat 
may be is quite beyond me, but if any one 
had told me that Richard Vidal would be 
such a fool as to waste money on a game of 
cards, I would not have believed it. The 
idea! Why, I am just beginning to enjoy 
Europe, and I don’t wish to go back yet. A 
nice business, truly ! I shall have to take 
my son-in-law home in less than nine months 
after marriage, and support him.” 

Mrs. Sharpe departed, once more cheered 
on her way by Messrs. Cook & Son ; and 
Mi.ss Nancy was left with a sense of loneli- 
ness such as she had never yet felt. Was 
her life only an aimless drifting across the 
track of others, each with a purpose, a home 
port to gain ? 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


119 


CHAPTER XXI. 

BLANCHE PIERMAN. 

At four o’clock on a bright afternoon, 
Blanche Pierman sat opposite her parents in 
a carriage approaching the Pincio. All the 
world of fashion was abroad. A little flow- 
er-girl, with dusty brown hair knotted be- 
hind and arch face, held up her basket of 
violets temptingly. The models grouped 
themselves artistically about the Trinity 
steps, in leggings, sheep -skin, and steeple- 
crowned hats, with the aspect described by 
Charles Dickens — a group of sadly dirty 
vagabonds, without those accessories of sun- 
lit wall and fountain around which they 
lounge so gracefully. 

The Pierman s were rather a silent family 
part3^ Something of the mother’s listless 
abstraction was reflected in the daughter’s 
sweet, fair face, producing the oddest resem- 
blance. Dr. Pierman’s face also was far from 
being a smooth and happy one, perhaps in 
the very protest of a man devoted to his 
profession chafing under prolonged inaction 
in travel. Thus they came to the border of 
trees, the throngs of pedestrians, the line 
of vehicles winding up the hill to this most 
beautiful drive in the world, not for its bass- 
reliefs or rostral columns, not for the statues, 
time -stained and blackened, gazing down 
from the balustrades, not for the memory of 
Lucullus, or the miserable death of Messa- 
lina, but because Rome is spread out at the 
feet — palaces, churches, ruins, with the riv- 
er wending along to the Campagua, St. An- 
gelo on its bank, and the sun sinking, a fiery 
red ball, into depths of opalescent cloud with 
tremulous pink rays shed across the domes 
and spires. Here were the small forest of 
lace parasols gathered about the band, the 
rows of men surveying the passing carriages 
with unflagging interest in each occupant, 
and the groups of oiBficers, still draped in 
their becoming blue cloaks, with gleam of 
silver sword-scabbard as they walked. 

^^How superb they are!” said Blanche, 
blithely. I should like an Italian prince to 
fall in love with me, papa, if he were a sol- 
dier, and would always wear his epaulets.” 

Mrs. Pierman smiled faintly. 

Perhaps the prince would not fall in love 
with you. Certainly he would claim fort- 
une as a dowry if he did.” 

Rockwell Cocks had not demanded a dow- 
ry with Blanche ; and over this grievance of 
his disafiection Mrs. Pierman could never 
cease to brood. 

How cruel to weigh me against metallic 
charms !” said Blanche, with a pout ,* and 
then she glanced at the calm, handsome of- 
ficers through her eyelashes pensively, won- 
dering what they were like, and how they 
went a-wooing. 

Do all men of the present day value one 
only for the money one brings ?” 

I 


This was questioned by rosy lips ready to 
arch into laughter, if the occasion warrant- 
ed, and long dark eyes glancing at the Pin- 
cian dandies, searching for something be- 
yond among the soft clouds of sunset. 

“ Most men do,” said Mrs. Pierman, with 
acid emphasis. 

“ What nonsense you are teaching Pussy,” 
interposed Dr. Pierman. There are men 
still in the world, my darling, who value the 
worth, the beauty of true womanhood, be- 
yond worldly advantages.” 

Mrs. Pierman looked at him with a pecul- 
iar expression. She could not help it; she 
was so much out with her present existence 
that the temptation to make others uncom- 
fortable, even unhappy, was irresistible. 

^‘At least I had a neat little fortune, 
John.” 

Dr. Pierman wiuced and reddened, and 
Blanche looked on with doubt and disap- 
probation. 

It is very unkiud to fling that in the 
poor dear’s face,” she said, promptly, lean- 
ing over to pat her father’s arm. If you 
had a fortune, mamma, it made no differ- 
ence in his love for you, I am sure. Was 
she pretty, sir, and did she look at all like 
me ?” 

Both parents smiled upon her without re- 
sponse, the charming little maiden in black 
velvet, with pink feathers in her hat ; but 
afterward the mother sighed deeply, and her 
companions knew perfectly well the mean- 
ing of that dolorous respiration, the daugh- 
ter most acutely of both. Somehow, if 
Blanche ever did happen to be gay in this 
sombre old city of Rome, that sigh of her 
mother’s was heard, checking merriment. 
Mrs. Pierman took deeply to heart the frus- 
tration of her cherished hopes for settling 
her daughter in life, and all the more ter- 
rible was the blow that her husband — al- 
most for the first time in their married ex- 
istence — had exerted his positive authority 
in breaking off the match with Rockwell 
Cocks. 

Dr. Pierman had not been so much a care- 
less man in governing his household, as a 
preoccupied one ; and the years had deliv-, 
ered the rule of power more and more into 
Mrs. Pierman’s hands, and she gloried in it. 
The wife believed that she l^d been placed 
in the world to manage pec^e cleverly, to 
influence adroitly results without appearing 
to do so, and her own success had strength- 
ened the belief. Fate had thus placed the 
Cocks family in her path, and, behold! 
Blanche had become affianced to the young 
man, thanks to her own skill, when Dr. Pier- 
man interfered, broke off the match, and 
sternly forbade her to mediate. Mrs. Pier- 
man was stupefied by her misfortune, which 
came too swiftly for preparation or even 
speculation. No sovereign was ever more 
astonished by the revolt of a conquered and 


120 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


peaceful province. Did she not know what 
was best for Blanche ? Had she not planned 
the whole affair from the moment of intro- 
duction on the steamePs deck? She had 
ruled her husband for years by dint of per- 
sistent argument, when her voice usually as- 
sumed a higher key, metallic and penetra- 
ting, and he had been careless, indifferent, 
in the absorption of his profession, allowing 
her to have her own way. There were few 
quarrels j Mrs. Pierman controlled, and they 
lived in separate worlds. She detested his 
drugs, and grew pale over his surgical in- 
struments. 

And now, in the most important step ever 
taken, he flatly opposed her; dismissed 
Rockwell Cocks without even consulting 
her. This was hard to bear. She might 
reason, weep, storm, cajole — the man and 
father remained immovable. Blanche, his 
only daughter, was concerned in his decis- 
ion, and he realized the full necessity for 
firmness. His attention having been called 
’to the irregular course of Rockwell Cocks’s 
life, he had watched him accordingly, and 
found ample proof that he was not a suita- 
ble husband for his child. Rockwell had 
behaved very well in his interview with Dr. 
Pierman, had confessed his many short-com- 
ings with a proper humility, and accepted 
his dismissal without appeal. This inter- 
view, which left Dr. Pierman rather puzzled 
as to the young man’s actual feelings, would 
have galled Howard Denby, proud and reti- 
cent, to the core. Rockwell Cocks instead 
lighted a cigar, took Blanche’s ivory picture 
from the mosaic frame, studied it a while in 
silence, then ran off to his mother, kissing 
her with unusual heartiness, and proposing 
a trip to Egypt. 

That is over ; and I don’t think I am a 
marrying man, madre he said, lightly. 

But the kiss did not disperse a cloud of 
anxiety on Mrs. Cocks’s face. Her dearest 
boy had been set aside by Dr. Pierman with 
unnecessary severity and curtness ; and, 
whatever his peccadillos, he was no worse 
than other youths. Her amour propre as a 
Bagatelle was deeply wounded by the pro- 
ceeding. I fear that Mrs. Cocks’s letters 
home represented the broken engagement 
as a mutual conclusion, Blanche being a 
sweet girhjwi^^t quite the wife for Rock- 
well, amltHI^Kp had parted excellent 
friends. Afterwarifehe lady removed to an- 
other hotel, while miking arrangements for 
Egypt, and was not at home when Mrs. Pier- 
man, still dazed by events, called. The 
Cocks acquaintance was ended on worse 
terms than as though it had never begun. 

To this poignant sense of mortification 
and humiliation Mrs. Pierman succumbed. 
Her husband was puzzled by her despair, 
and took‘ Blanche about with him in full 
faith that fresh air would disperse melan- 
choly, at least for a young nature. Mrs. 


Pierman’s failure had so many phases that 
she could each day find a new grievance in 
it. To have been so near marrying Rock- 
well Cocks, and have failed ! She was a self- 
tormentor, never assured of her ground, like 
a born Bagatelle, keenly alive to glances, 
gestures, equivocal words ; and to such a 
nature, calm though the exterior may be, 
ridicule is insupportable. She was already 
ridiculous at home, where every one would 
be gossiping over this broken match in 
time: and who had flaunted Blanche’s con- 
quest so widely as her own mother? In 
her heart she had always meant that no 
loop - hole of escape should be allowed the 
volatile butterfly which had been caught in 
Blanche’s little gossamer net. This was a 
hard, mean truth, scarcely confessed to her- 
self, and never to others ; and while she had 
worked for this end patiently and long, her 
husband had destroyed every thing in one 
day. 

‘‘ Those Piermans who tried to get on in 
the world, you know. Caught Rockwell 
Cocks for the girl abroad, or thought they 
had, only he slipped through somehow. 
Pretty ? Yes, rather — nothing remarkable.” 

This wmuld be her world’s verdict. She 
had measured out the same herself, many a 
time, over a luncheon party or kettle-drum. 

And Blanche? Her mother absorbed so 
much attention at this time, as the being 
most afflicted, that she had little leisure for 
herself, and this may have been a blessing. 

^‘Dear mamma, I am sorry to have dis- 
graced you, as I seem to have done,” said 
the girl one day, sitting down beside the 
sofa, where lay Mrs. Pierman, with a hand- 
kerchief over her eyes saturated in eau-de- 
Cologne. 

I am not thinking of myself, but of you, 
darling,” the mother had answered. It is 
such a terrible drawback to have been once 
engaged, and so publicly too. Men do not 
like it in marrying at all. I am sure Rock- 
well Cocks has ruined your chances, and I 
believe your father was very harsh with 
him.” 

^‘I am sure papa tried to do what was 
right,” said Blanche, in a low tone, studying 
the carpet. 

Young men must be wild sometimes, and 
you might have saved him by your influ- 
ence,” said Mrs. Pierman, removing the 
handkerchief to gaze at her daughter. 

Do not say such a thing,” cried Blanche, 
a little wildly. ^^Did he ever ask it? He 
cared nothing for me.” 

Then she burst into a tempest of tears, 
and ran off to her own room, Mrs. Pierman 
marveling a little at her temper. Parents 
are the gardeners that dwarf and cramp 
the plants beneath their care into unnatu- 
ral growths sometimes ; the lapidaries that 
often cut their priceless gems to yield such 
oblique rays, instead of the full splendor 


MISS NANCY'S PILGRIMAGE. 


121 


possible. Blanche felt very rebellious and 
tragic when she ran off in tears. 

Mother despises me because I am unsuc- 
cessful ; I suppose every one will," she pant- 
ed, with hot cheeks and trembling hands. 

She would escape from it all if she could. 
This question of marriage ! Blanche set her 
small teeth in her full under-lip, and frown- 
ed. Surely she was very young, only eight- 
een ; and one need not be so harassed at ev- 
ery turn by that matter yet. 

The little goad of Mrs. Pierman's irritable, 
restless ambition was already applied to her 
daughter's dimpled shoulders as it had been 
to her husband's all these years. Blanche 
must marry as soon as she left school, and 
marry well. The girl shuddered a little 
when glancing back at Rockwell Cocks. 
He had chilled the tender pity with which 
she would have received him in the effort to 
make him better — most seductive hope of 
feminine breast — and forgiven his faults; 
and he had wounded her delicacy, perhaps 
piqued her, by never soliciting such sweet 
forgiveness. No word, no line, no beseech- 
ing of a farewell interview, which, with Mrs. 
Pierman's aid, would have too surely bridged 
the chasm in reconciliation ; and thus the 
ashes fell into the urn of buried hope. 
Blanche did not lie on the moonlit floor in 
rigid unconsciousness, did not drift into ill- 
ness and gloom : modern young women sel- 
dom do, although the heroism of veiling their 
dead may have none the less a sublime self- 
abnegation in the wearisome resumption of 
painful routine. 

She cried over the heap of charming 
trinkets which were to be sent back, and 
the ring wrenched from her finger. It was 
all so miserable, and a mistake which need 
never have been made, had they known bet- 
ter from the first. Each separate gift in the 
glittering pile gave her a little stab of pain, 
a sense of mortification. Rockwell was very 
generous. Then she wrote a pitiful little 
note to him, dictated by her own conviction 
of the error, and her father had the unparal- 
leled cruelty to put it into the fire, sending 
the trinkets with his own card instead. Aft- 
er that Mrs. Pierman had arisen from her 
couch, and washed her hands of the future 
thus : 

^^Henceforth you can manage your daugh- 
ter's affairs, John, for I will not attempt it." 

I will endeavor to look out for her," he 
had answered, gravely, not thinking of his 
wife's auger half so much as his own negli- 
gence. 

If Blanche was grown up actually, it 
behooved him to cherish and protect her. 
He scanned succeeding gentlemen who ap- 
proached her so severely that he frightened 
away a German baron and a French count. 
Mrs. Pierman then smiled at masculine ob- 
tuseness : the foreigners had no intentions, 
and simply considered John a boor. 


The sun disappeared, the music ceased, 
and the carriages turned homeward, leav- 
ing the Pincio deserted, with its shrubbery 
and gardens in the twilight, as when the 
ghost of Nero was said to w^ander here. 

I wonder what has become of Miss Nan- 
cy Hawse ?" Blanche remarked, meditative- 
ly. She intended visiting Rome." 

To youth's wayw'ard fancy did the school- 
marm form a link in that chain stretching 
back to the quaint chapel of the H6tel Clu- 
ny, wdth saints faintly outlined on the win- 
dow-panes, and an eager voice — oh ! so sweet 
and thrilling as it receded into the past — I 
love you, Blanche." 

Mrs. Pierman shivered, and gathered her 
shawl closer about her, without reply. She 
was a person who believed that one may 
keep many secrets without necessarily ut- 
tering falsehoods. Hence she need not men- 
tion having met Miss Nancy at St. Paul's 
without the walls last week, since she had 
not called. Thus the Piermans drove back 
to the hotel as silent as they had started. 

At the same hour when the Piermans 
drove out, the object of Blanche's specu- 
lations, Miss Nancy, was standing in the 
Church of St. Cecilia. She had come alone, 
and no other occupant disputed possession 
with her of the deserted edifice. In this 
very silence was a repose befitting the sleep 
of Cecilia beneath the altar. The first 
glimpse of her marble draperies, her deli- 
cate hands, and averted head gave Miss 
Nancy a thrill of sympathy and pity. Beau- 
tiful Cecilia, noble Roman lady, envied for 
the wealth that fed the poor, a lamb among 
the wolves, converting all who came within 
sound of the voice which angels stooped to 
hear — was this, indeed, the shrine chosen 
for your hallowed dust? Miss Nancy had 
seen the picturesque campanile, the ancient 
marble pillars gathered from pagan ruins 
without; the tomb of Adam of Hertford 
and Cardinal Fortiguerra flanking the en- 
trance ; but these were nothing to her while 
hastening to the altar to admire the grace- 
ful form, wrought by Stefano Maderno after 
he ran with all the town to see her uncor- 
rupted body as taken from the Catacombs, 
wrapped in gold tissue befitting her rank. 
There was something absolutely vivid to 
the living woman in thqivpr^eence of the 
dead one. This was o^e*her house, and she 
expired a.d. 280. THh altar canopy, with 
its statuettes of Cecilia and the husband 
and brother she had converted. Valerian 
and Tiburtius ; the mosaics of the tribune ; 
Christ robed in gpld, with mystic phenix 
and palm-tree emblems; the fresco repre- 
senting Pascal I. asleep, when the saint ap- 
peared to him in gorgeous raiment revealing 
the spot of her burial in the Catacombs ; the 
yearly praise of the papal choir in this plain, 
simple church to one who was inspired to 
sing by heavenly visitors ; all were a later 


122 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


growtii of church ceremonial, springing from 
that first impulse, a noble life, and Miss Nan- 
cy scarcely heeded them. The conviction 
came to her with delight and exultation 
that she was the first stranger who had ever 
intruded here ; alone of all the throngs of 
visitors had she found this shrine. 

Then a peculiar nasal chant became au- 
dible. She glanced around, and a little rosy 
brother, his priestly garments shabby and 
rusty, stood beside her smilingly, awaiting 
her inspection of the bath. Miss Nancy’s 
castle of supremacy in having discovered 
lovely St. Cecilia was shattered by the first 
glance of his eye ; he jingled his keys, and 
represented to her the latest of no mortal 
knows how many visitors. The chanting 
grew louder, but no train of acolytes or 
monks appeared. 

The brother pointed to the inclosed gal- 
lery above, still smiling : 

Les religieuses.” 

Miss Nancy fancied she had discerned a 
nun’s black drapery through the lattice, and 
gazed with absorbed interest at the curtain- 
ed door-way with its grating, beyond which 
the Benedictine sisterhood do not emerge, 
remaining invisible to all. The brother 
turned the slide through w^hich he had just 
passed their daily portion of charcoal, assur- 
ing the lady that he had never seen them. 
Here was the mystery fraught with terror 
and romance so many centuries ; the grated 
door, the convent seclusion, the chanting 
voices in the latticed gallery, with the shad- 
ow of a black robe, the flutter of a veil faint- 
ly discernible in a ghostly band set apart 
from the world. 

Then the brother lighted his taper, and 
Miss Nancy entered those low stone cham- 
bers, the bath attached to all Roman houses 
of rank, where the Lady Cecilia had been 
imprisoned so many ages ago, amidst the 
fierj^ vapor which would not suffocate be- 
cause a cooling shower had tempered the 
heat, thus preserving her alive. The little 
taper flickered up and down massive mason- 
ry, mosaic pavement from the Catacombs, re- 
vealing the furnace doors far beneath where 
cruel hands had heaped the fuel, pipes, and 
apertures for the steam. Miss Nancy looked 
above for some possible opening where a 
faithful servant might have poured a stream 
of cold water upon ^he captive of ‘the sudi- 
Urixm^ and, as the guide could not under- 
stand her, his feelings were not hurt by her 
incredulity. 

^^It was this belief in latter miracles 
which led Savonarola to the stake,” mur- 
mured Miss Nancy. 

Si,” assented the brother, smilingly. 
‘^Questo h fresco di Santa Cecilia e Valeri- 
an o.” 

The pavement was dull, moist, broken in 
places as if with cracks and fissures of ex- 
treme age; the walls of the church were 


cold, barren, naked; yonder was the cur- 
tained door of the chanting sisterhood, and 
beneath the altar, like a broken lily, Ce- 
cilia. 

At the hour when the Piermaus drove 
back from the Pincio to their hotel. Miss 
Nancy also returned homeward, and in sol- 
emn mood. The peace of twilight brooding 
over that quaint old church, fashioned from 
her own house, and restored to St. Cecilia by 
posterity, had also permeated Miss Nancy’s 
breast. In living she had said : 

“ I have an angel which thus loveth me, 

That with great love, whether I wake or sleep, 

Is ready aye my body for to keep.” 

In dying after the lictor’s cruel blows, she 
had thanked God for considering her wor- 
thy to share the glory of his heroes. Who 
are the Cecilias of to-day, ready to sacrifice 
wealth, position, the respect of society, nay, 
to defy rulers with the tortures of the suffo- 
cating bath, the wheel, the axe, at their com- 
mand? 

Absorbed in meditation on these things, 
the old faint sense of loneliness and useless- 
ness crept over Miss Nancy. Was Martha 
Dunne, crabbed, queer, and plain in her blue 
goggles, a St. Cecilia wrapped in golden tis- 
sue, pictured with gem-bordered robe, lying 
in marble purity of delicate, drooping limbs 
beneath a richly decorated altar? Not in 
this world, Martha Dunne, the saint’s aure- 
ole on church wall and ceiling, the martyr’s 
palm of immortality! Through what vale 
of aimless wanderings should she, Nancy 
Hawse, ever become one, in smallest phase 
of imitation ? She went to the window, and 
looked out on the silent street, with the pi- 
azza all in shadow. Fain would she have 
wandered forth had she dared, and even in 
fancy she trod again the Ostian Way, beneath 
the arch where had passed the man who was 
the reality, while those of the present are 
the shadows — Paul, the apostle to the Gen- 
tiles. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE BLUE BALCONY. 

We seem to be very early, and I am sure 
a carriage is ever so much more agreeable,” 
said Mrs. Pierman, peevishly. 

Then you get all the old bouquets full 
of gravel in your eyes, mamma, while up 
here you are safe,” protested Blanche. 

^‘Have your own way,” returned Mrs. Pier- 
man, in a tone of resignation. 

Then my own way is to have quantities 
of pretty things thrown at me,” said Blanche, 

gayly- 

Her mother looked at her gloomily, an 
expression which was becoming habitual. 
Mrs. Pierman either was not, or feigned not 
to be, interested in the scene about her. She 
had done her best, and been foiled by her 


MISS NANCY’S PILGEIMAGE. 


123 


dwn family. Blanche had made herself very 
bright and pretty for the occasion ; not, in- 
deed, in pink-cambric dominoes, such as the 
Italian ladies wear, but with a fleecy white 
jacket and silver ornaments, likely to attract 
the homage of the passing Carnival throng. 

The Corso was crowded, that narrow thor- 
oughfare so celebrated, which must be seen 
for duo appreciation, when all those balco- 
nies which seem to have adhered to the 
houses in a reckless fashion, each without 
reference to its neighbor, are decked with 
holiday colors, and above the sky is blue, ex- 
tending like a narrow ceiling over the tall 
houses. Blanche’s quick eye ranged up and 
down the street ; venders of bouquets held 
them up to her notice on poles ; and the rain- 
bow pennants of those Avinged missiles that 
shoot through the air with comet-tail of col- 
ored tissue-paper were made to flutter ap- 
pealingly beneath her gaze. Farther on was 
the Piazza del Popolo, in the full tide of gold- 
en afternoon sunshine ; on one side the gar- 
den wall topped by budding trees, the brass 
helmets of the band glittering, and in the 
centre the obelisk guarded by its solemn 
lions — a monument old in Moses’ childhood, 
decked with flags by the Carnival of the 
good year 1876. 

Groups of maskers danced on the pave- 
ment to the music or the rattle of their own 
tambourines; sailors, in blue and white; bal- 
let-girls ; and the black dress, relieved by 
Avhite-muslin apron, mantle, and mob-cap — 
most frequent garb of the maidens — worn in 
honor of Genoese Princess Marguerite. Op- 
posite Blanche was a long crimson balcony, 
and next two little green ones with the odd 
aspect of steamboat berths; again, the fan- 
cy of the owners had converted these orna- 
mental excrescences into the semblance of 
bonbon - boxes, fringed borders, garlands of 
artificial flowers festooned across the dra- 
pery, and gilt caskets swinging, like gigantic 
tassels, from corners. Only tinsel, cambric, 
muslin roses in cheapest form of imitation, 
yet wonderfully pretty in effect beneath 
that clear sky, and above the surging crowd 
constantly passing from gate-way of shadow 
to the wide, brilliant piazza. 

Next to Blanche was an unoccupied bal- 
cony, separated by a yard of space, and it 
was blue. The balcony had a certain aspect 
of superiority above its fellows which Mrs. 
Pierman was quick to resent ; the blue dra- 
pery was carried up into a coronet -shaped 
canopy, so as to reveal the occupants well ; 
the lower portions were held in knots of rib- 
bon with little bouquets of yellow roses, and 
two amber satin arm-chairs were conspicu- 
ously placed within. 

^‘That is much better than ours, John. 
You should choose a place with some refer- 
ence to becomingness. How we must look 
against this dingy red, just like bed - cur- 
tains !” said Mrs. Pierman. 


^^The blue balcony must have cost far 
more, my dear,” said Dr. Pierman, mildly. 

Blanche, with imagination in full play, be- 
gan to people the pretty window with shapes. 

“ The prince will come there who is to fall 
in loYe with me,” she thought ; “ and by the 
time he arrives I shall have received a bou- 
quet-stem in my right eye, in order to bind 
it up in a pocket-handkerchief. Failing the 
prince, somebody in the crowd will be smit- 
ten with my charms, and rush upstairs, in- 
sisting on paying five hundred francs, at 
least, for the blue balcony in order to flirt 
with me.” 

Then the girl drew back suddenly, flush- 
ing with shame or anger. She had seen a 
man in the street who resembled Rockwell 
Cocks: the very remembrance conveyed a 
sting. 

Miss Nancy had climbed the Capitol steps 
with Howard Denby that day. 

Yes, the young man had arrived in Rome 
at last, and Miss Nancy regarded him with 
a subdued satisfaction, not seeing her way 
clearly, as yet, to bringing about a meeting 
with Blanche Pierman, and willing to await 
events. Was he changed ? Scarcely differ- 
ent in outward aspect, but with a possible 
addition of courage gained from the pros- 
pect of success; for he was given hope in 
England that much work, vigilance, and 
patience would be crowned with ultimate 
reward. 

^‘The Capitol is worthy of a daily vis- 
it, especially to a young man, from its won- 
derful historical associations; but there! I 
promise not to preach, as my friend Mrs. 
Sharpe always accused me of doing,” said 
Miss Nancy. 

Accordingly she suffered Howard Denby 
to take his own course, to see the meek lit- 
tle wolf blinking in his den ; to gaze up at 
the gigantic twin brothers, curbing their 
steeds on either hand, who preceded the 
Roman army after the battle of Lake Regil- 
lus, watered their horses at the Aqua Ar- 
gentina, and passed away from sight of man, 
to come upon Marcus Aurelius in the square 
above unaided; all in the sunshine of the 
perfect day, with the steps of Ara Cceli on 
the left marking a site descended by Julius 
Caesar on his knees after victory. Howard 
Denby must receive the image as best he 
could on that varying retina of sensitive im- 
pression — a man’s brain ; the flight of Rien- 
zi, and murder at the base ; the great bell of 
Viterbo, mute until it announces the death 
of Pio Nono ; the quacking of the sacred 
geese — school - boy lesson ; and gorgeous 
Tarpeia sitting, enchanted, in the depths 
of the hill, clothed in the gold and jewels 
which were her shame. 

Miss Nancy, on her first visit to the Capitol, 
had paused just within the entrance of the 
Museo, rooted to the spot : the old figure of 
a river god opposite, moss-stained, and with 


124 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


water gushing from a spout below with mu- 
sical ripple, bad certainly wdnked at ber 
drolly. Now, a statue bad never so winked 
at ber before, and sbe was forced to smile 
in response to tbe bumor of bis massive coun- 
tenance. There be lounged on one elbow, 
and seemed to greet ber w ith. 

How are you ? It is so uncommonly dull 
up here among tbe classical statues, that one 
does not know what is going on in tbe world. 
Any news V’ 

The river god was Marforio, banished to 
this safe seclusion for bis naughty witti- 
cisms exchanged with bis gossip Pasquin 
of tbe Palazzo Brascbi, to the delight of tbe 
towns-people ; and Marforio bad an un- 
doubted right to wink at Miss Nancy if sbe 
came to visit him in doleful retirement. 

Howard Denby also laughed as be first be- 
held tbe statue. 

‘‘What a funny old fellow be exclaim- 
ed. “ He seems almost to wink at me.’^ 

Miss Nancy sighed. Sbe was only trav- 
eling on tbe beaten track traversed by thou- 
sands before ber, instead of making discov- 
eries. Tbe colossal Hadrian stirred what- 
ever element of boyish enthusiasm existed 
beneath Howard Denby's calm exterior. 
Perhaps for tbe first time since be bad at- 
tained that age of fifteen, and stood in tbe 
wintry street before tbe grocery shop, be 
stepped beyond tbe limits of self in tbe cor- 
ridors of tbe Capitol. Like Mrs. Pier man, 
be was never sure of himself, although for 
ditferent reasons, and this uncertainty pro- 
duced a brooding, morbid self-examination, 
resulting in discontent. Tbe young man, 
whose later years bad been spent in a trop- 
ical wilderness, did not pause to analyze bis 
emotions as Miss Nancy did, when be saw 
the familiar stooping form of tbe Gladiator, 
most pathetic in its heroism. Tbe Faun 
smiled down upon him with enchanting 
grace and good bumor, tbe most expressive 
nonchalance in bis mien ; Antinous turned 
the graver beauty of bis perfect face ; and 
Miss Nancy strolled on, for Howard Denby 
bad no attention to bestow upon other ob- 
ject than this dying Gaul. 

Something appealed to bis whole nature 
in tbe terrible agony, tbe last struggle en- 
dured without a groan, until dissolution 
came as release. Could be die like that ? 
Instantly there flashed upon him tbe con- 
viction that if be bad seen this time-worn 
form before, so instinct with life, so mourn- 
ful and stern, be should have been a differ- 
ent being. Tbe thorn-pricks of modern life 
could not be compared with the taming in 
captivity under bated conquerors, tbe end 
in an arena still more fearful, slain, or slay- 
ing a possible friend, even if a fellow-slave. 
Tbe day was changed, yet here was a bar- 
barian capable of teaching bow to die nobly, 
although sunk to tbe most ignoble phase of 
servitude. 


Miss Nancy admired tbe Venus, ber ex- 
quisite perfection enshrined in ber separate 
niche, like a cameo on sardonyx ground, and 
then searched for favorites in tbe Hall of 
tbe Emperors, a pursuit of which sbe was 
never weary. Sometimes sbe fell insensi- 
bly into Mrs. Sharpe’s vein of derision of 
these ancient busts, where tbe most delicate 
features, tbe most noble physiognomy, Avere 
placed beside tbe low, cruel, bestial type. 

“ Talk about tbe follies of tbe age,’’ re- 
flected our school-marm, ber gaze turn- 
ing from tbe haughty Livia and tbe seat- 
ed Agrippina to Julia and Messalina, with 
their frizzled locks and elaborate coiffures, 
“ tbe Roman ladies could scarcely learn much 
from tbe Paris of to-day, unless it might 
be in that inestimable boon of tight lacing. 
Poppsea Sabina, killed by tbe kick of your 
noble lord, with your infantile grace and 
your celebrated toilet, could this poor nine- 
teenth century offer you any thing new in 
hair-dyes, cosmetics, perfumes ? No doubt 
you lived in tbe palace glittering with gold 
and jewels, erected by that restless madman, 
your husband ; slept on beds of doAvn, re- 
posed on couches inlaid with tortoise-shell, 
went forth in gilded litters, bathed in mar- 
ble baths, and drank from crystal cups ; but, 
all tbe same, you were kicked to death by 
tbe monster Nero.” 

Howard Denby stood before tbe Gladia- 
tor, with Antinous and tbe Faun looking 
down on him. Tbe image was becoming 
stamped on bis brain ; be did not wish to 
receive other objects in tbe very intensity 
of tbe first impression. JSIiss Nancy touched 
bis arm : 

“ We must go to lunch now, my dear.” 

Howard smiled almost scornfully. 

“ I am not hungry — here,” be answered. 

“ Of course, and that is the way illness 
comes ; so you will oblige me by consuming 
a certain quantity of noonday beefsteak,” re- 
plied Miss Nancy. 

]\Irs. Pierman yawned drearily in ber cor- 
ner of tbe balcony. Blanche, flushed with 
animation, was tossing and receiving bou- 
quets ; bonbons rattled against the balus- 
trade like bail. 

“ Do you feel unwell, Margaret ?” inquired 
Dr. Pierman, with solicitude. 

“ Ob no. My bead aches more than usual 
with this hot sun.” 

“ People have to be careful here in Rome. 
That is all,” be added, catching a bunch of 
violets for bis daughter. 

Mrs. Pierman raised ber eyebrows slightly. 

“New-comers, you mean, John. Old Jia- 
Utues know bow to take care of tbemselA^es, 
usually, and do not seek tbe Coliseum by 
moonlight after a ball, or sit on a garden 
wall sketching in the twilight.” 

Tbe blue balcony bad remained unoccu- 
pied hitherto. Now a young girl stepped 
out, bugging a snowy Spitz dog in ber arms. 


MISS NAIS^CY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


125 


Blanche edged up to the railing, and patted 
the dog across the space intervening. The 
people were late coming, she said, after prais- 
ing the canine countenance. Yes, it was al- 
ways a foreign lady, an Inglese, who had the 
blue balcony for the Carnival, the young girl 
had replied. Blanche ceased to he inter- 
ested. No doubt a fat milady would come, 
with a footman and maid, and he stupid al- 
together. 

Just as she had arrived at this decision, 
and was in the act of dropping a hunch of 
rose-huds deftly on a passing officer’s head, 
Howard Denhy emerged on the blue bal- 
cony, followed by Miss Nancy Hawse. 

Had all the world paused, with only that 
whirl of Carnival noise sounding afar off in 
one’s ears like turbulent waves, in a long, 
mutual gaze of recognition? Both paled 
perceptibly — Blanche from the sparkling 
animation of fun akin to frolic, and How- 
ard in the suddenness of the surprise. At 
first there was no attempt at speech or greet- 
ing — the two merely looked at each other 
in trouble, doubt, and indecision whether to 
stop, or fly; then the young man advanced 
to the balcony side, and held out his hand. 
Blanche gave him three fingers reluctantly, 
and cast down her eyes. 

Miss Nancy came to the rescue with beam- 
ing smiles. It was nothing to her that Mar- 
garet Pierman sat beyond. She had once 
more arranged the meeting of these two 
young people, who, according to her own be- 
lief, were born to make each other happy. 
Mrs. Pierman, contrary to all expectation, 
was aroused to animation by the advent of 
Howard Denby, and the astonishing circum- 
stance of Miss Nancy’s occupying the blue 
balcony. No doubt she had led the young 
man into the extravagance of renting it. 
Natures like Mrs. Pierman’s are ever ready 
to discover the most unworthy motives in 
their fellow-creatures. 

John, do go into the next balcony to en- 
tertain your old friend Nancy, and send Mr. 
Denby to us,” she requested, after a moment’s 
hesitation. 

Very well,” assented Dr. Pierman. 

Howard Denby could scarcely credit his 
senses at the change. In a moment he 
was bending over Mrs. Pierman’s chair, and 
standing beside Blanche ; her dress touched 
his knee. To be sure, Mrs. Pierman allowed 
little opportunity for conversation between 
the young people : she was aroused to sud- 
den interest in the young man because of 
Mrs. Cocks’s friendly regard for him, and 
through that regard she hoped to learn of 
the movements of the lady. Howard Den- 
by might even serve a double purpose : he 
would reveal nothing outwardly, of course, 
concerning the ruptured engagement; yet if 
Mrs. Cocks was mentioning the matter pub- 
licly, he would be aware of the fact, and she 
trusted to her own cleverness in reading his 


thoughts. Mrs. Pierman would be addition- 
ally miserable in learning such to be the 
case, and yet could not avoid the opportuni- 
ty of striving to discover the truth. 

Blanche was absorbed in the scene about 
her. Once Howard Denby restored a don- 
'bonniere to her, and looked full in her eyes 
while so doing. 

Aim a little higher,” he said, softly. 

Thanks, I will,” retorted Blanche, stiffly. 

What did he mean ? 

Dr. Pierman had shaken hands cordially 
with Miss Nancy, and sat down in one of 
the yellow satin arm-chairs comfortably. 
Miss Nancy would have welcomed him had 
he been one of those scarlet-clad diavoU of 
the crowd, or Rockwell Cocks, even. No, 
she would rather have him at the distance 
of the Pyramids instead, now that Howard 
Denby stood beside Blanche. Dr. Pierman, 
glad of the change in his wife which made 
it no longer awkward to speak with Nancy, 
inquired with real interest about her jour- 
ueyings. 

And if I had dropped off into the Medi- 
terranean at any time, he would never have 
known it,” she thought, half bitterly, look- 
ing at the middle-aged, quiet man beside 
her. 

Of what did his youth give promise ? He- 
roic powers and splendid fulfillment, at least 
in her eyes. It was neither time nor place 
for cherishing bitterness and resentment. 

Miss Nancy had rented the blue balcony 
for the Carnival, almost the first act of pure 
extravagance since her inheritance. Oh, 
the pleasure she had derived from it ! She 
had invited her landlady’s children, and gone 
into the by-ways for invalids unable to bear 
the crowd, and she had pelted with confetti 
and thrown bouquets, being quite impartial 
in her choice, which led her as often to se- 
lect a pretty woman as a fine-looking man 
for her fragrant favors. 

The Roman Carnival is a thing of the 
past,” observed Dr. Pierman, tamely. 

Then I do not know what it may have 
been,” said Miss Nancy. The people close 
their shops, and flock to the Corso still, and 
the princess smiles in her balcony amiably. 
It is a pretty show.” 

^^And founded on the old Saturnalia,” ob- 
served Dr. Pierman. 

The current still eddied about the obelisk 
and in the wide, sunny Piazza del Popolo. 
What variety and amusement Miss Nancy 
found in the gay pageant ! Here was a band 
of Arabs mounted, with turbans and gor- 
geous mantles ; there a ship, with sail half 
furled ; a tree of agile monkeys ; a tiger, led 
by a cord ; contadini, and devils innumerable, 
with frightful masks and droll gayety. The 
Englishman was invariably represented with 
the aid of a huge false nose and exaggerated 
plaid inexpressibles ; the Chinaman, by a 
head-covering like a nasturtium blossom; 


126 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


brigands, by fierce beards and muskets. Now 
the current of dark humanity parted in a 
wave for a Louis XVI. carriage, with out- 
riders in scarlet, and snowy wigs, the king 
removing his laced hat to bow graciously 
from time to time. Your modern prince may 
drive unobtrusively in a neat landau like 
other gentlemen, but yoiir Carnival prince 
must x>ossess the old glittering splendor. 
What a good-natured people, and how much 
pleasure they made out of a masquerading 
dress ! 

The clown in white, with a black mask 
and bladder club, was never weary of his 
pranks. Miss Nancy came to regard him as 
an old friend, as he tapped the gendarme fa- 
miliarly with his resounding weapon, or laid 
it over the shoulders of a dandy, or filliped 
a pretty peasant-girl under the nose, then 
ambled away absurdly in the wake of a car- 
riage, only to re-appear again beneath the 
balcony with a bouquet, rescued from the 
gutter, to throw at Blanche Pierman. The 
harlequin, young, slender, and active, with 
a whole family party in his wake — probably 
from the Trastevere — of big maidens in dom- 
inoes, embryo clown much striped, and little 
shepherdess conscientiously wearing a mask 
too large for her, skipped aimlessly from 
side to side, finding eujoj^ment at every step, 
whether in chaffing the Roman matron in 
plaid shawl, with a silver crescent in her 
hair, or mocking at the soldiers, or tripping 
up the venders. If the Roman Carnival has 
waned, the children alone would redeem and 
render it charming. All along the Corso, 
grave and dignified little ladies, in stiff, 
flower - brocaded petticoats and powdered 
hair, gazed down from windows and balco- 
nies on the driving throngs of baby mounte- 
banks in peaked caps ; court gentlemen in 
blue silk small-clothes, curled wigs, and 
cocked hats ; chubby peasant maidens, with 
red petticoats and tiny bodices, miniature 
embodiments of various costumes. Often a 
little dame in pink satin, sprigged with sil- j 
ver, roses and pearls in her hair, and lace j 
kerchief folded quaintly across her breast, | 
preceded her plainly dressed parents, who | 
jogged after, exchanging glances of mutual 
pride. Often the father stood beside the ; 
carriage to give his little folk a glimpse, and 
although his hat might be rusty, the vehicle 
a shabby one enough, the small people were 
as smart as humble purse and family pride 
could make them. 

Now came the little princelings in their 
carriage drawn by fat ponies like the fairy 
tales, scattering pretty trifles right and left, 
quite on a level with their subjects, butter- 
flies within reach of any rude hand ; chief 
of little court gentlemen these, in their rich 
costumes envy and admiration of all other 
babies. They passed directly beneath Miss 
Nancy’s balcony, and actually looked up — 
the fairy princelings — for Master Tommy 


Pierman, hanging over the rim of the rail- 
ing, launched his very best bouquet at them, 
knocking one jaunty hat over its owner’s 
eyes, and, perceiving his error, retired dis- 
comforted. 

The pretty dears !” exclaimed Miss Nan- 
cy, and watched them with solicitude on 
their triumphal progress, lest the roguish 
clowns should lose their manners, or the 
scarlet devils prance, and the fat ponies run 
away. 

Mrs. Pierman had gained her point by this, 
time. Howard was impassive at the men- 
tion of the Cockses’ name ; but he had re- 
ceived a letter from Mrs. Cocks at Cairo. 
The young man had little idea of the impor- 
tance such an acknowledgment had in the 
eyes of Mrs. Pierman. Her eagerness to con- 
verse with him was puzzling, and he wished 
to speak with Blanche before Dr. Pierman 
returned. The gun boomed and echoed along 
the line, the people began to move, and 
shout louder. Noise was to them more in- 
toxicating than wine. 

There is to be an illumination of the 
Piazza di Spagna to-night,” said Howard, 
hurriedly. I suppose you will be there ?” 

^^I don’t know.” Blanche was playing 
with her flowers somewhat listlessly; ex- 
citement in the day was waning. 

^‘It will be the finest given for years,” 
said the young man, fervently. 

A dimple revealed itself at the corner of 
Blanche’s mouth. 

No doubt the foot of the steps is the 
best point of observation, also,” he said, 
presently. 

No doubt,” assented Blanche, demurely. 

Again the gun boomed along the line, and 
still the crowd swayed, rustled, and laughed 
in groups with rows of soldiers beginning to 
penetrate the ranks. Dr. Pierman had dis- 
appeared from the blue balcony, leaving Miss 
Nancy alone. There was just time for one 
more effort. 

I think you might come.” 

Oh !” from Blanche, with dilating eyes, 
these foreigners are so odd.” 

A lady across the street had tossed adroit- 
ly a bunch of lilies straight into Howard 
Deuby’s hands, as a parting salutation ap- 
parently. He flushed with pleasure, and re- 
moved his hat. Blanche disapproved of the 
bold proceeding. It seemed very strange 
to have another woman admiring the fine 
nose and gold mustache of her cavalier. 
How many girls had fallen in love with 
him in England already ? 

Then the third gun boomed forth its ur- 
gent, imperative summons. Glint of color, 
rattle of tambourine, surge of people into 
side streets, and a channel of pavement be- 
came discernible down the entire Corso, 
widening by degrees to a margin of soldiers 
and bristling bayonets pressing back the 
human tide thus pent up in narrowest lim- 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


127 


its. To Miss Nancy tliis novel spectacle was 
the feature of the Carnival day — the chan- 
nel of space from end to end of the narrow 
thoroughfare, the fringe of crowd below, the 
expectant faces leaning from the blue and 
pink and crimson balconies above, all wait- 
ing for the trumpet-peal to be taken up and 
echoed in the distance. What wondrous 
pageant might not be anticipated from this 
patient, good-humored, interminable time of 
waiting ? There were no blows or scowls, 
as in an Anglo - Saxon mob of the sort ; no 
interference necessary on the part of the 
police, save in the pilfering of bouquets by 
ragged urchins : the clowns capered absurd- 
ly on the curbstone; the harlequin raised 
his mask to light a huge cigar; the soldiers 
chatted with the civilians they kept in or- 
der. Indolent, deceitful, if you will, yet it 
is a race that inspires liking, an indefinable 
sympathy, by its smiling amiability, its in- 
souciant day of sunshine existence. You 
may scold and shake your head in prim dis- 
approval while putting your hand in your 
pocket for stray soldi, but the hand seeks 
the pocket none the less, won by brilliant 
dark eyes and white teeth and dusky faces. 

The trumpet peals ; all heads are turned 
toward the Piazza del Popolo. If an un- 
fortunate little dog gets into the open space, 
it is hooted ; the harlequin will dart out to 
gaze down the line. Then a few miserable 
horses, worried by fluttering tin on their 
flanks, appear, dash along, striking sparks 
with their hoofs, irresolute, frightened, and 
glad to reach the goal. 

These are the famous harden, and never 
was so much celebrity before attached to 
such mild and inoffensive ‘^beasties.” All 
is over in that flash of flying hoofs: one 
steed falls, and turns back in humiliation ; 
and then the tide pent up so long flows 
back, closes from curb to curb more sudden- 
ly than the flight of the harheri to the stake. 

That evening Miss Nancy observed ex- 
traordinary impatience on the part of her 
young friend, Howard Denby, to reach the 
illuminated piazza, and, drawing her own 
inference from the circumstance, put on her 
bonnet without a word of objection. The 
night was dark, serene, balmy, the deep- 
blue vault above studded with stars having 
the remote brilliancy as of glittering points 
of light, peculiar to northern latitudes. The 
Trinity steps were strung with garlands of 
tinted jets ascending from flight to flight in 
myriads of globes, crimson, green, pale-yel- 
low, intermingled with wreaths of leaves, to 
the illuminated obelisk, which rose like a 
shaft of fire against the solemn darkness 
of the convent beyond. Did the nuns who 
chant with heavenly sweetness at vesper- 
time peep out from grated windows on the 
pyramid of variegated lights by which the 
Carnival world strove to climb to their 
threshold? Trinity da Monti seemed to 


spurn back the frivolous bubble of merri- 
ment, that sparkled like a rainbow for an 
hour, then perished, from its sombre fortress 
walls. 

At the foot of the steps Blanche Pierman 
stood with both hands clasped over her fa- 
ther’s arm. Presently she became subtly 
aware that Howard Denby was standing be- 
hind her, and nothing could be more natural 
than that he should join her while Miss Nan- 
cy conversed with her father. What a good 
old soul was Miss Nancy, and so considerate 
of the feelings of other people! The two 
immediately fell to singing her praises in 
duet, and Howard told Blanche about the 
school-marm’s inheritance of Uncle Simon’s 
money. Then they moved off to a point of 
vantage, and gradually disappeared ; a fact 
which Dr. Pierman discovered with some 
astonishment, for he had been describing a 
mosaic manufactory in detail. Your elderly 
eyes are not so much dazzled by cones of 
red and green light, when music also pulses 
out of the darkness somewhere, but recog- 
nize the prosaic gas which produces the 
charming effect instead. 

They have gone up the steps ; we can 
follow,” said Miss Nancy. 

When the seniors had reached the first 
broad platform Miss Nancy chose to pant, 
and pause by the stone parapet. 

‘‘ John, I wish you to make me a promise,” 
she said, suddenly and impressively. 

Very well, Nancy,” returned Dr. Pierman, 
soberly. 

He was looking very grave ; either he was 
fatigued, bored, or some change had come 
over him since the afternoon. She could see 
that at a glance. 

‘‘Do not slight the young man, Howard 
Denby, as a suitor for your daughter Blanche. 
I have studied him, learned to know him, 
and I believe he is worthy of her.” 

Dr. Pierman’s brow became furrowed ; he 
bit his lip. 

“ That young man ! Why, I have not ex- 
changed a dozen words with him yet. Wom- 
en have very quick insight into character, I 
grant — far superior to that faculty in men, 
Nancy ; still, you must allow that your feel- 
ings sometimes blind your judgment.” 

“ I do not acknowledge so at all,” replied 
Miss Nancy, in some heat, then checked her- 
self. She did not intend to argue the equal- 
ity of the sexes, but Howard Denby’s suit. 

“ I was in hopes that all this nonsense was 
over for the present. Blanche is too young 
for the thought of marriage,” he s'aid, pres- 
ently. 

“ Howard Denby loves her as the darling 
deserves to be loved ; I am sure of that fact ; 
and he is one in a thousand. The young 
man would wait for her, John, as Jacob 
served for Rachel.” 

She could not help it, the words were ut- 
tered before she thought of their full mean- 


128 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


ing. The arrow went home. How had 
John Pierman, in his proud, impetuous youth, 
served for her ? 

^^I will follow your advice, Nancy, and 
give him a fair trial; hut he must be pa- 
tient, and wait long,” said Dr. Pierman, half 
remorsefully. 

If Nancy Hawse chose to interest herself 
in the welfare of his daughter as another 
generation, he was assured of her honesty 
of purpose, and it was a small return to 
make if he agreed to test Howard Denhy. 
In his heart he was touched by the manifes- 
tation of regard. Perhaps this sense of re- 
liance in her nature which all felt, and yet 
of which she was utterly unconscious, made 
him continue : 

^^I have had very bad news to-night, 
Nancy. The latest bank telegram states 
that the trust company where all Marga- 
ret’s money is deposited has suspended. I 
have not told her, and the affair may not be 
as serious as that; still, I am going to Lon- 
don to-morrow on the strength of the rumor, 
and you alone know the true reason. If I 
leave all these affairs in your hands, court- 
ship and lovers, will you promise to take 
care of them for me ?” 

He spoke lightly, but Miss Nancy answer- 
ed, very solemnly, as she gave him her hand, 
I promise.” 

At the top of the steps in all the moving 
crowd a very different scene was transpiring. 
Blanche Pierman also leaned against the 
parapet looking down on the lighted vista 
below, and there were tears in her eyes, but 
she still clung to Howard’s protecting arm. 

^^Am I to tell you what I have already 
seen of this wonderful old Rome ? Why, la 
Reine Blanche, toujours la Reine Blanche, 
am I to tell you why I came ? Because you 
were here.” 

His voice fell again on her ear with soft, 
wooing penetration, an under -tone to the 
swelling music, the quaint shapes of mas- 
queraders flitting in the light, and there 
was sweetest balm of consolation in it to 
her young soul. Her mother had said no 
one would notice her after Rockwell Cocks’s 
defection. Even now there was gall min- 
gled in the honey of such delicious triumph 
of Howard Denby’s return. Did he know ? 
Did he love her ? 

Blanche did not glance up at him shyly, 
as at Rockwell Cocks; she was distressed, 
humbled, and ashamed. To what brackish 
stream had she stooped willfully, blindly pol- 
luting her lips, when the crystal purity of a 
fountain only awaited her ! She was despi- 
cably unworthy of Howard Denby’s gener- 
ous love, and he would not see the fact in 
its true light. It seemed as if the broad, 
jovial face of Rockwell Cocks rose out of 
the darkness, mockery in the small, twink- 
ling eyes, which said, 

^‘I have kissed and caressed her; the 


world supposed her mine ; she wore my ring 
on her finger. Pick up the flower I gather- 
ed and cast aside, if you will.” 

And this to Howard Denby, morbidly 
proud, with the world before him ! 

There is a church here which has capti- 
vated my fancy,” said Howard Denby. Do 
you know ugly, deserted, damp St. Dorotea, 
where a priest admits you by a side door 
through the cloister ?” 

Yes,” said Blanche, doubtfully. She was 
acutely well aware of what would follow. 

^^The holy maiden going to martyrdom 
rebuked the heathen youth, Theophilus, for 
his unbelief, and promised to send him the 
fruit of paradise. On the altar you find 
carved the child- angel who brought the 
fruit and flowers to Dorotea, and she dis- 
patched them by the angelic messenger to 
the heathen youth thus: ^Dorotea sends 
Theophilus the promised fruit of paradise.’ 
Then great wonder and awe fell upon him, 
and he believed. Now, I know a youth to 
whom this rebuke came in the first glance 
of a no less pure and lovely maiden, for he 
was soured and disappointed, and she was a 
revelation to him of a higher existence. In 
all his dreams the child-angel Hope appear- 
ed, and brought him the fruit of paradise.” 

Blanche was very still ; she appeared al- 
most to have ceased to breathe as she turn- 
ed away her head. Suddenly the light flash- 
ed up in myriad rays, clouds of pale amber 
shot with vivid sparks, intense metallic 
blue balls, and fountains of wavering, jet- 
ting flame athwart the whole space, meet- 
ing, blending in golden rings, and separa- 
ting again, and the obelisk and the convent 
became transfigured. Then succeeded no 
less rapid, quenching darkness. 

Howard Denby put his arm around 
Blanche and kissed her lips. The lights 
had not vanished, the clouds of pale fire 
seemed still to surround these two, separa- 
ting, buoying them up into other spheres. 
She raised her hand, and touched his face. 

^^Oh, how beautiful you are, and how 
good !” cried the girl, impulsively. 

Afterward she was walking along the dark 
and narrow street with her father, trem- 
bling, confused, dumb, led like one blind, 
and scarcely believing in her own happi- 
ness. 

Mrs. Pierman had fallen asleep on her sofa. 

How red your face is !” she said, languid- 
ly, when Blanche came in. 

Only fancy, mamma. Miss Nancy Hawse 
has had a fortune left her, Mr. Denby says. 
How funny, and nice, too !” 

Mrs. Pierman’s features contracted, and 
even Dr. Pierman was silent. 

1 hope she may not lose her head, then,” 
said Margaret Pierman, dryly. The blue 
balcony looks somewhat like it, I confess. 
But did you not bring Mr. Denby home with 
you ? I should like to see him.” 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


129 


^^I think that he will call soon/’ replied 
Blanche, meekly. 

In Miss Nancy’s dreams the events of the 
day were marvelously blended. She saw 
again the harheri dash along the Corso, driv- 
ing before them human beings, stripped to 
the waist, and goaded on by taunts from 
the crowd — Jews from the Ghetto w^ho ran 
the race, not in the days of heathen suprem- 
acy in the brutal sports of the arena, but 
under Christian rulers. Curiously inter- 
woven with this fact, she also stood on the 
Capitol steps once more where these same 
Jews came to pay a tax, with humiliating 
ceremonials, that the horses should run in- 
stead of themselves, and they be permitted 
to shrink back unmolested to their homes. 

Never did a blue balcony yield more su- 
preme satisfaction to a possessor than this 
one to Miss Nancy as she closed her eyes 
that night. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

OLD ROMAN LACE. 

You are not to tell where we have been, 
understand, Marie.” 

Very good, madame.” 

Mrs. Pierman had just emerged from the 
bank, and there was precisely the sum of 
twelve hundred dollars, rendered into Ital- 
ian paper currency, in the purse held in her 
hand. The French maid Marie sat opposite 
in the carriage, sallow, thin-lipped, and with 
those oblique, furtive black eyes always ob- 
servant, always vigilant. Mrs. Pierman had 
been far too much absorbed in her own 
thoughts to read a bulletin in the door- way 
of the bank, and she had left a very small 
residue of a letter of credit indeed, when 
drawing the sum now in her purse. The 
bulletin announced the suspension of the 
trust company where her funds were depos- 
ited. 

I must write to John for more money,” 
she thought, leaning back in the carriage 
with a sigh of weariness. “ This is a chance 
not to be slighted.” 

Mrs. Pierman’s head ached as usual ; she 
would have declined an invitation to any 
entertainment less than a court ball, and yet 
she nerved herself to unusual exertion, for 
the incentive was old Roman lace. The 
pursuit of wealth may flag, the possession 
of jewels pall, but the acquisition of lace 
never does. The delicate meshes, the frost- 
work of design, the whole fabric of perish- 
able costliness has inthralled the feminine 
fancy in its net from the beginning, and 
there is no slavery in fashion so fascinated, 
so thoroughly docile in subjugation, as a 
w^oman’s devotion to her laces. What ex- 
travagant and delightful recklessness a mere 
handful of silky blackness may represent ! 
What taste and education in delicate per- 
9 


ception of difference between this heap of 
yellow net-work and that ! What burning 
sense of humiliation in the ignorance that 
admits of being possibly cheated in accept- 
ing false for the real article ! A woman is 
less ashamed of a grammatical error in con- 
versation, a misspelled sentence in her letter 
revealing defects of early education, than 
of being taken in ” on her lace. Whatever 
her sphere in life, she is supposed to have 
been born with an inherited knowledge of 
Brussels, Point d’Alengon, or Chantilly, and 
it is a disgrace to her sex if she fails to rec- 
ognize either at arms-length. 

Mrs. Pierman had devoted much leisure to 
the study of the subject. When she entered 
society she felt it necessary to take that body 
by storm in some brilliant coup-de-mairij and 
she chose the weapon lace with entire suc- 
cess. The ugly saffron bands on Mrs. Pier- 
man’s velvet cuffs were known to be real Ve- 
netian, so old as to scarcely hold together ; 
the Mechlin on her amber -satin reception 

dress was made for the late Princess M ; 

the white shawl which draped her shoulders 
so gracefully was the most expensive one of 
the pattern ever brought to America. This 
supremacy once established, Mrs. Pierman 
determined never to relinquish it, and fain 
would she now add to her store the article 
which has a musical sound to the ears of her 
countrywomen, even in the utterance — old 
Roman lace. The cunning craft has a sin- 
ister significance for any production so ex- 
quisitely lovely, of workwomen blinded by 
years of toil, of snares, not unlike those set 
by the wily insects imitated, that the inno- 
cent may fall. 

‘‘I can not do better,” she soliloquized. 

If you observe any thing amiss, tell me, 
Marie. I would not trust these women an 
inch, but I do trust you.” 

‘‘ Yes, madame,” replied Marie, obediently. 

Mrs. Pierman drove straight to the Ghetto, 
a region which the old traveler assures one 
is stripped of valuables, just as the Carnival 
has passed its prime, all things having pass- 
ed away seemingly with his first impressions 
of Europe. Let such a one meet a calm, 
stout woman of forty, with olive complexion 
and penetrating eyes, in no way remarkable 
as to aspect ; she may casually inquire as to 
his ultimate disposition of old clothes, and 
she will not do more unless especially en- 
couraged to reveal hidden store of antiqui- 
ties, possibly locks of value and great age, 
a bit of jewelry, and thus by degrees ap- 
proach her fastness — Roman lace, imitation 
if practicable, and a final shred of the orig- 
inal if a connoisseur disputes her imposture. 
She gauges you with her dark eye, and cheats 
3^ou if she can; but state not, O traveler! 
that she has no store for sale, because she 
has surveyed you, hands on hips, in some 
dark door-way, and suffered you to drive on 
without a wheedling protest. 


130 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


Rags and tags, odds and ends, were heap- 
ed and littered everywhere, with an especial 
tendency to battered hats, placed one above 
the other, as children make daisy chains. 
Mrs. Pierman heeded not the evil odors, the 
swarming crowd, the mire of the way, the 
old walls toppling over the river’s current : 
her thoughts were fixed on a low structure 
opposite the Cenci Palace, where she pres- 
ently arrived. There was sunshine here; 
the large, massive building basked in the 
warm radiance of day as if the most terri- 
ble crimes had not stained its past ; but the 
broad casements on the piazza were closed, 
and the doors had a sullen, barred aspect, 
like the darkened soul of Francesco, while 
sunbeams sought with their quivering gold- 
en arrows for living trace of Beatrice. Mrs. 
Pierman did not even study the pile; she 
had seen it before, and, instead, her glance 
strayed thoughtfully down toward the river. 

There were the woman in the Fuimara, 
and the dealer on the Piazza delle Tarta- 
rughe, Marie,” she demurred. 

^^But the lace was not the same, madarae,” 
said Marie, firmly. 

It was Friday afternoon, and the Ghetto 
was preparing for the Sabbath with baking 
of bread, and the sweeping out of sight of 
that industry in stitching, patching, and 
mending which renders the daughters of 
Zion such a marked contrast to the indolent 
Italian. Stracd ferracci — rags, clothes, dra- 
pery, the refuse cast aside by all Rome — 
seemed gathered here in variegated heaps, to 
be sorted with patient care and skill to serve 
thrifty ends. 

Mrs. Pierman, thus advised by her trusty 
maid, entered a dark shop, made her way to 
a passage behind, and ascended a crooked, 
broken stairway with an earthy flavor and 
the scent of fish aud oil. Above, in a small 
stoue chamber, nearly destitute of furniture, 
the stout, olive-coraplexioned woman of for- 
ty awaited her guests. In half an hour the 
small chamber was scarcely recognizable. 
Two small casements, scarcely more than 
slits in the wall, revealed a glimpse of the 
Cenci Palace above a flower-pot, and on the 
floor below was a brazier unlighted; some 
richly carved furniture had appeared as if by 
magic ; embroidery from Algiers lay beside 
striped Spanish fabrics, and a piece of an- 
cient red velvet bordered with gold fringe 
hung over squares of silk, dear to the artist, 
and once used for balcony ornaments in city 
pageants, product of forgotten looms, in gold- 
en green sprinkled with softest sheen, and 
creamy pink veined with silver or faded 
prune, and lilac colored like Italian mount- 
ains in the hot noonday. 

The stout woman, in producing these 
treasures, had unfastened a larger window 
with shutters, and over the red of the velvet 
she now spread fold after fold of the Roman 
lace on which Mrs. Pierman had already set 


her heart. The lady passed her fingers over 
it tenderly ; Marie stooped to scrutinize the 
mesh; the shop-woman regarded them both 
with an inscrutable expression. The natu- 
ral result was that Mrs. Pierman again en- 
tered the carriage with purse lightened and 
worldly goods increased considerably by the 
visit to the Ghetto. None of her friends 
should know what she had paid, or where 
she had obtained the prize. 

Dr. Pierman had been absent for several 
days, his reasons for departure to London 
not very clear to his wife ; but she had be- 
come accustomed to an absorption in the 
manifold interests of his profession which 
did not arouse her curiosity. During this 
short interval, Mrs. Pierman had also called 
on Miss Nancy, and permitted her to take 
Blanche about without herself. Nancy poor 
and Nancy rich made a world of difference 
in Mrs. Pierman’s creed, although the change 
was not to her liking in the least. Already 
her restless ambition was shaping these cloud 
fragments to castles for her own future ben- 
efit. Nancy might leave her money to John’s 
daughter from a lingering sentiment of ear- 
ly love for him. She would have treated 
this rustic ally differently from the first, 
had she foreseen events ; still, it did not so 
much matter, since Nancy evidently bore no 
malice for her own previous negligence. If 
one could see who was to go up aud who to 
go down in this life, treating them accord- 
ingly, every thing would be simplified. 

The subdued happiness, the lapses into 
reverie and abstraction, in her child, did not 
escape Mrs. Pierman, and one night there 
had been a tremulous faltering confession 
on the part of Blanche concerning the love 
of Howard Denby for her, and the life they 
would lead in South America together. 
Blanche was already becoming an enthusi- 
astic civil engineer under this new influ- 
ence. Mrs. Pierman had listened skeptical- 
ly, and almost without comment. Let mat- 
ters take their course. Blanche could scarce- 
ly do worse than to espouse this penniless 
young man; still, he in turn might rise un- 
expectedly, and his devotion would serve as 
a useful appearance just after the defection 
of Rockwell Cocks. There are times and 
seasons when it looks well for a girl to have 
fallen in love most foolishly, Mrs. Pierman 
reasoned. 

Thus she came home from the Ghetto, 
weak and tired as she had been for days; 
the sun, so carefully avoided by the natives, 
seemed to blind her aud dazzle her brain. 
She passed the Church of the Cappuccini, 
and saw a brown -robed monk leading a 
party of tourists to the vaults below. Im- 
pulse led her to stop and consult her watch. 
In case Blanche had not yet left the hotel, 
she must account for her own absence, and 
conceal the lace for which she had paid 
twelve hundred dollars. She thought of it 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


131 


with a little gasp of exultation, and horror 
at her own extravagance. Never mind ; it 
would serve as an heir-loom in her family. 

I have never seen the vaults, and I can 
say that I have been here,” she meditated, 
and went in. 

From outside daylight and atmosphere al- 
ready perfumed with spring violets, she pass- 
ed to the most morbid horrors of the char- 
nel-house. A clammy dampness oozed from 
the stone arches and the earth beneath ; the 
windows were dimmed with dust gathered 
to a palpable film, like a yellow shroud for 
God’s day. Fearful mockery of death, these 
skeletons dangling from pegs, these ara- 
besque designs of skulls and bones, these 
garlands of human vertebrae, and, still more 
dreadful, the penance of the living so ar- 
ranging the moldering remains of decom- 
position. Whose diseased imagination first 
beheld in these daily contemplation of skulls, 
of Jerusalem earth, of ghastly mummies, a 
glimpse beyond this world of immortality ? 
The place made the strangest impression on 
Mrs. Pierman’s mind that morning : she grew 
suddenly cold from head to foot, and yet lin- 
gered behind the others to gaze in horrified 
fascination at the yet filled graves — although 
fresh burial is now forbidden — and at the 
dried face peering from a cowl of the last 
monk disinterred, which seemed to grin at 
her with elfin mockery. The guide return- 
ed, a stout, hale person with black beard, 
and a snuffling intonation of his few En- 
glish words: he fancied her interest was 
centred in an altar also made out of disin- 
tegrated humanity, and caused the joints to 
move and rattle with distinct articulation. 

^‘Enough,” she shuddered, and followed 
him hastily along the passage. 

Her dress caught on some projection, a 
finger-bone protruded from a cornice to ar- 
rest her departure, the last mummy grinned 
and leered at her beneath the brown cowl. 

I should go mad if I had to pray daily 
here,” she said, once more safe in the car- 
riage. 

“ It is so triste in there, madame,” observed 
Marie, shrugging her shoulders. 

The Hotel San Vitale suited Mrs. Pier- 
man’s taste precisely. It was spacious, ap- 
proached through a charming garden, and 
the entrance door revealed a glimpse of sun- 
ny court-yard beyond. On no consideration 
would Mrs. Piernian, feeling herself to be a 
patron of all this splendor, have stopped 
elsewhere in Rome, or had her friends seek 
a less stylish establishment. The corridors 
and stairways were like those of American 
hotels, the drawing-rooms sumptuous, the 
billiard and smoking quarters all that could 
be desired, and the charges by no means ex- 
travagant for the freedom of it all. Mrs. 
Pierman was very warm in her partisanship 
of the San Vitale, and resented deeply as a 
personal affront any of those vague alarms 


as to healthful locality which assail the 
traveling public. Did she not know ? To 
be sure, there was a taint of gas which per- 
vaded the spacious corridors at times, and 
Dr. Pierman preferred a sunny apartment on 
the Piazza di Spagna; but his wife would 
not consent to come at all unless the whole 
San Vitale were thrown open to her. Peo- 
ple who were so fearful had best stay at 
home altogether. Accordingly Mrs. Pierman 
had been here located for three months, and 
found ample society among her own nation 
of an evening in the brilliantly lighted sa- 
lons, while Blanche danced in the German, 
and the doctor whiled away time at the bil- 
liard-table. 

Two circumstances the lady failed to no- 
tice: on this site stood the ancient Sabine 
Temple of Fever, while near the Quattro- 
fontane was the Temple of Salus, and the 
English, most cautious of travelers in regard 
to health, did not frequent the hotel. 

When she returned she was relieved to 
find Blanche already gone, and a gay little 
note on the table explained that Miss Nancy 
had called for her earlier than was anticipa- 
ted, and had taken a box for the evening at 
the opera. Mrs. Pierman sought her sofa 
with a sigh of relief, and, after again admir- 
ing her lace, suffered Marie to place it under 
lock and key. Really, there was no limit to 
Miss Nancy’s urbanity ; she had carried off 
Tommy as well for the afternoon drive. Sol- 
itude was not irksome to the mother just 
then. She closed her eyes, and the dead at- 
mosphere of the Capuchin vaults again came 
over her; she saw the last monk grinning 
beneath his cowl. What was Marie saying ? 
No, she did not wish any thing to eat ; a lit- 
tle wine-and-water would do. Then a quick 
suspicion darted through her mind that the 
lace might not be safe from theft. She un- 
locked the trunk where Marie had placed it, 
and took it instead to one of her husband’s. 
Dr. Pierman’s effects were pushed about with 
scanty ceremony — what did it matter for a 
man’s clothes? — and as she removed a fold- 
ed coat papers rattled out of the reversed 
pocket on the floor. She moved, them aside 
with her foot, carelessly; then, on second 
thoughts, gathered them up to replace in 
the trunk. Her eye lighted on an envelope 
directed to Dr. John Pierman, care of Mon- 
roe & Co., Rue Scribe, Paris,” dated months 
back. Did Nancy Hawse correspond with 
her husband ? There was nothing tragic in 
the discovery ; Mrs. Pierman was not a bride 
to pale over the billets-doux of a former love, 
but she was capable of being a jealous wom- 
an, and wondered now at her own lack of 
emotion. She carried the letter back to her 
sofa, and deliberately perused it. 

For the first time she learned that it was 
Nancy Hawse who had called attention to 
the evil career of Rockwell Cocks, and bid 
Dr. Pierman watch the young man, and she 


132 


MISS NANCY'S PILGRIMAGE. 


was now fostering a match with Howard 
Denhy. Mrs. Pier man raised herself on the 
sofa, her features convulsed, then sunk slow- 
ly hack again. She had been herself a tool 
while intending to use them. Fool! fool! 

Presently the whole room echoed her own 
words until she was frightened hy the re- 
verberating sound. ^^Fool! fool!” up under 
the lofty ceiling, ringing from the walls, 
whispering from dark corners : she was con- 
scious of putting her hand over her ears 
in desperation at the wearisome repetition. 
How curious it was, the voices coming and 
going like that ! Nancy Hawse had broken 
off the great match. How tiresome it was 
to utter it over : Nancy Hawse, always Nan- 
cy Hawse ! Measure for measure. Who said 
that? The ceiling, the floor, or the shad- 
owy corners ? Measure for measure. Stay, 
that was not the Bible’s merciful doctrine ; 
it must be the Capuchin bones. Oh, what 
nonsense, Capuchin bones having a doc- 
trine! She was growing absolutely silly; 
she laughed weakly. Nancy Hawse had 
banished Rockwell Cocks. That was it. 
She must remember; keep it to herself. 
Roman lace for twelve hundred dollars. Fie, 
what a sum ! No, no ; not to the Corso, 
coachman, but to the Ghetto. Why did he 
join the Carnival, when she said Ghetto in- 
stead ? The whirl of maskers troubled her 
brain. Strange, grotesque heads peered 
through the puffing clouds of confetti. Some- 
body said the scarlet diavolo had the lace, or 
knew where to find it. Tell him to drive 
straight to the Ghetto, Marie. How the 
crowd surged, like waves of color, aching, 
confusing noise, babble of shrill tones! It 
was rude to push a lady about so. The man 
in armor fell over on his face like a thin 
pasteboard toy. The scarlet diavolo knew 
about the lace, real Roman lace? There 
were a thousand scarlet diavoli running, 
jumping like insects — horrible! and they 
drove her forward irresistibly as if her feet 
scarcely touched the ground. This swift- 
ness of motion was incredible, delightful, 
terrible, and deprived one of breath ; it was 
being drawn by a wind toward a low door 
she was reluctant to enter, the door of the 
Capuchin- vaults. Oh, how cold she was in 
the deadly fear of the i)lace ! If the skulls 
danced, or the skeletons should sway on 
their pegs in the awful stillness succeeding 
all the Carnival noise, she must shriek aloud, 
shrinking back against the chill stones of 
the wall. Oh, how cold she was, and no- 
body came ! 

Marie glanced into the room, holding 
Tommy back ; Mrs. Pierman lay asleep on 
her sofa. The maid did a curious thing; she 
sent Tommy away to play in the halls, and, 
seeking the bunch of keys in a well-known 
drawer, stole cautiously to the trunk where 
she had been told to place the morning’s pur- 
chase. The lace was gone ! Mrs. Pierman 


groaned in her slumber; Marie closed the 
lid, and moved away like a cat. 

Whatever was left of effervescing Carni- 
val hilarity by the day had brimmed over 
into the Teatro Apollo for the evening to 
witness a new opera, “II Guarany.” 

The pretty interior was bright with light, 
and the animated audience was moved as 
quickly as sunbeams rippling over the cur- 
rent of a rapidly flowing stream to stormy 
applause or fiercer hisses. This petulance in 
judgment gave vei've to the performers ; made 
the tenor’s sweet voice ring out with addi- 
tional fervor, the prima donna pose more 
gracefully before the foot- lights, and the 
maestro^ no doubt, more anxious for the suc- 
cess of his work. All the tiers were full of 
brilliant toilets, the paler hues ordained 
by Northern fashions ever deepen to richer 
shades to suit the luxurious Southern eye ; 
and here mauve or rain-washed blue became 
royal purple and cerulean tints. The prin- 
cess sat in her box, beneath a glow of radi- 
ant chandelier and gilded coronet, as if bask- 
ing in the rays of royalty, and formed the 
central gem of the chain inclosing the whole 
interior of the house. 

Who so beaming and happy as Miss Nan- 
cy Hawse, with her young friend, Blanche 
Pierman, well placed in the best seat, and 
her young friend, Howard Denhy, conven- 
iently near one shell-like ear of the girl, in 
case any inspiration should come to him 
amidst the brightness and music. Could 
any thing have been more fortunate than 
the choice of opera ? Miss Nancy was per- 
suaded it was composed solely for her two 
companions by the maestro, and that the 
fashionable Roman world, from the princess 
down to humbler ranks, had gathered for 
the same end to honor the occasion. What a 
beautiful world it was, full of gentleness and 
kindness and noble motives, after all ! 

II Guarany was an Indian who dwelt in 
realms near the present city of Rio de Ja- 
neiro, at the time of the first Portuguese ad- 
venturers; and the noble savage was torn 
by conflicting emotions, uttered in melodi- 
ous measure at the front of the stage, be- 
tween hatred of the invaders and chivalrous 
devotion to a certain Donna Clara in white 
muslin, of their number, whose mission 
seemed to tame his untutored soul by sweet 
song from pasteboard towers and balconies. 
This system of enchantment had the ef- 
fect of making him twang his bow ener- 
getically, show the whites of his eyes very 
much, and vow vengeance on the young 
cavalier who aspired to her hand. What 
mattered it that caziques wore beards of Eu- 
ropean style? Their ear -hoops were con- 
spicuous, and they trailed leopard -skins as 
they walked with savage grace. The ballet 
vcarried pretty bows and arrows, in costume 
like the “ children of the leaves ;” there were 
real wigwams in the background, and palm- 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


133 


trees rising against the golden mirage of 
sky, suggestive of tropical heat. 

Howard Denby was telling Blanche about 
these palms, these majestic rivers with hanks 
so clothed in vegetation that nature has not 
yet made place for man. 

Poor fellow ! I hope he will come out 
all right in the end,” reflected Miss Nancy, 
moved by the misfortunes of the tenor; and 
then she turned around, and observed the 
usher standing in the door claiming atten- 
tion. 

Howard Denby was leaning over Blanche, 
whispering caressingly. Miss Nancy would 
have allowed him to go to the usher, but 
for one circumstance : she saw over the 
intruder’s shoulder the face of Marie, the 
French maid. Never to her dying day will 
Miss Nancy forget the picture indelibly 
stamped upon her memory at that moment 
— Howard Denby bending over Blanche, 
then the rim of box with the space of par- 
quet beyond, the opposite tier of boxes, the 
princess sparkling with diamonds beneath 
the chandelier, and II Guarany singing his 
melodious sorrows, with the penetrating 
sweetness and warmth of tone only found 
in the Italian voice. She rose, and went 
swiftly to the door. 

‘‘What is the matter?” she inquired, 
quickly. 

Marie’s face was white, her teeth chatter- 
ed, and she wore a long cloak enveloping 
her entire form. Madame was ill ; had been 
so for days, Marie knew, and the people had 
sent for the great Italian physician, who 
was at the hotel this hour. She had run for 
mademoiselle when she could get away. 

Miss Nancy felt as if a cold hand were laid 
on her heart. She drew Marie farther along 
the corridor. 

“ What is it ?” she whispered, hoarsely. 

“ Mon dieu ! the fever.” 

After that. Miss Nancy went back to her 
companions. Blanche was saying, 

“ Then we shall swing in hammocks un- 
der the trees, dear, and grow very lazy.” 

“Howard must escort me to a carriage, 
and then he will come back for you, my 
darling,” said Miss Nancy, very gently. 
“Something has happened, and I must go 
home.” 

Before Blanche could recover from her 
surprise, Miss Nancy was gone, telling How- 
ard Denby what to do in the vestibule ; then 
drove away from the opera-house alone. 
Marie had disappeared ; and it is a fact that 
another carriage at the same moment was 
conveying the trusted servant to the d6p6t, 
she having in her traveling-bag a small roll 
of old Roman lace, recently purchased in the 
Ghetto. 

The night was still, warm, almost oppress- 
ive ; a blue fog stole through the darkened 
streets, enveloping house after house in its 
murky, unwholesome embrace. Miss Nan- 


cy had promised John Pierman to take care 
of his own. Thus she pursued her way, and 
the fog and the darkness kept pace with 
her. 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

EASTER MORNING. 

The door of No. 12 on the first corridor of 
the Hotel San Vitale stood wide open ; the 
room was plainly seen to be unoccuj)ied; the 
crimson curtains were neatly arranged about 
the fresh linen of the bed ; a femme de cham- 
hre was chatting from the open window, 
through which the sun streamed, with a por- 
ter in the court below. Steps were heard 
approaching, and voices, the varying tones 
of inquiry and response, and a servant ap- 
peared with a party of tired and dusty trav- 
elers. No. 12 was one of a charming suite 
of rooms, airy, fresh, and handsome, with 
the cheering sunshine coming in — a haven 
of rest to the weary tourist. 

“ Seems to me it smells of carbolic acid in 
this closet,” observed paterfamilias, snifiiug 
suspiciously. 

“ Oh, pa, how you do go on!” exclaimed a 
chorus of remonstrating young voices, just 
tinged with scorn. “Every one knows the 
San Vitale is perfectly splendid, and lots of 
fun.” 

“Been no illness here, eh?” questioned 
paterfamilias, still sniffing in distrust. 

No illness this year, the servant was pre- 
pared to affirm, and paterfamilias subsided 
to contentment. 

Gay voices and assured steps in the day- 
light, but at midnight the previous evening 
the door of this very No. 12 had swung open 
noiselessly, and, with muffled tread, stealthy 
movements, suppressed tones, a woman sick 
unto death had been borne along the hushed 
corridors up many a weary stair to a hiding- 
place, a refuge under the roof, where she 
might lie undisturbed and out of sight. 

Gold could not buy her possession of the 
bed with the crimson canopy, or persuasion 
of any sort leave her in the cheerful sunshine 
of No. 12. She was an intruder, smitten 
with a mortal malady, infecting the air she 
breathed, dependent on the charity of the 
Hotel San Vitale to cast out into the street 
or retain. The fiat had gone forth from phy- 
sician and anxious landlord : she must be re- 
moved up under the roof, out of sight, and, 
if possible, be forgotten. Marvelous clem- 
ency this, not to dispatch her out into the 
night and a hospital instead. 

The woman smitten was Margaret Pier- 
man, consumed with fever, raving with de- 
lirium, or lapsing into unconsciousness, and 
the burden of her care devolved on Miss Nan- 
cy. She it was who battled with the board 
of health improvised, in desperate hope of 
Dr. Pierman’s return to help her stem the 


134 


MISS NANCrS PILGRIMAGE. 


tide of opposition; herself shunned by ev- 
ery one, from her dangerous propinquity to 
her charge, with the double anxiety of keep- 
ing Blanche away from danger. She it was 
who sent Master Tommy to her rooms with 
Blanche to take care of him ostensibly, the 
maid Marie having run away from the scene 
of peril; and Howard Denby passed his 
time between the two houses. Blanche oft- 
en rose in flat rebellion against this arrange- 
ment, and insisted on nursing her own moth- 
er, at least with Miss Nancy ; but the older 
woman wms firmly opposed to the risk, curb- 
ed the girl’s distress of inaction by throwing 
Tommy on her care, and urged the necessity 
of keeping him from contagion. This argu- 
ment benumbed Blanche to silent tears, and 
she waited. 

Since the night when she had been sum- 
moned from the opera so suddenly, and found 
Mrs. Pierman past all recognition of her sur- 
roundings, to Miss Nancy the hours were 
days, and the days interminable weeks, each 
moment fraught with fatigue, anxiety, alarm, 
and the shock of manifold changes in the 
progress of illness. Dr. Pierman had been 
telegraphed at London, and had gone to Man- 
chester ; yet only four days had elapsed when 
the citadel of Miss Nancy’s last resistance to 
physician and landlord and proprietor yield- 
ed. At midnight those scuffling, stealthy 
steps had passed along the corridor, bearing 
Mrs. Pierman upstairs. Miss Nancy walking 
beside her, and Howard Denby bringing up 
the rear. 

All was clean and fresh and cold in the 
new chamber. Miss Nancy’s heart went out 
to the helpless creature oast upon her mercy 
so unexpectedly, thrown into her very arms : 
the strongest impulse of her nature was pro- 
tection. She smoothed the pillow for Mar- 
garet Pierman’s head, and kissed her hot 
cheek; then fell on her knees, and prayed 
for her recovery, with bitter weeping, the 
first tears she had yet shed. 

Consider her family, O Lord ! her hus- 
band, and the children who would come to 
her, if I would let them !” prayed Miss Nan- 
cy. 

The sick woman was also uttering words 
soft and low : 

The roses were white. Is father’s din- 
ner ready in the tin pail? I hate my sun- 
b oil net.” 

The next morning Dr. Pierman arrived, 
haggard and care-worn; not the cheerful 
physician who entered the sick-chamber of 
patients at home with a pleasant word of 
encouragement, but a man to whom trouble 
had come in heavy loss of property before 
the tidings of his wife’s illness had reached 
him. Miss Nancy’s measures were strictly 
enforced by him ; Blanche and Tommy, even 
Howard Denby, were banished, while these 
two remained chief nurses, with the aid of a 
Soeu7' de Charity who stole in at night, bring- 


ing one of those serene faces, framed in white 
lawn, to the sick-bed. Miss Nancy herself 
was urged to withdraw for a time, but the 
feeble hands were found to cling tenaciously 
to her, as the blind clutch at one who leads 
them safely along. This might have been 
only instinct, the merest animal sense of 
groping for help ; yet the appeal was inex- 
pressibly touching to the nurse, who took 
the poor scorched fingers in her own cool 
supple ones, and spoke soothingly to the suf- 
ferer. 

Nancy,” murmured Margaret Pierman, 
with the wan shadow of a smile on her face. 

Thus the vigil wore on. All realized it 
to be only a vigil long before the end came. 
If the great physician had been summoned 
before, when the poison was slowly instill- 
ing into her veins ; if her husband had been 
at hand during those days of overmastering 
weariness, the crisis might have been avert- 
ed. If is the pivot on which swings perpet- 
ual existence in the reasoning of this world. 
Her children had failed to notice much 
amiss — Mrs. Pierman had spent so many of 
her mornings on a sofa, and her evenings at 
a ball. Blanche w ent out with Miss Nancy 
and her lover, in heedless tripping youth, 
while the mother was being slowly gather- 
ed under the shadow of death. Tommy had 
played in the court and garden. Miss Nan- 
cy had been still too shy of Margaret Pier- 
man’s overtures of peace to observe her 
closely. 

Roman fever, most dreaded shape of mod- 
ern maladies, lurking in wait for the soldiers 
recruited for the Eternal City and the king’s 
army ; lurking also in wait for the pilgrims, 
sickening in radiant, fiery sunshine, and chill- 
ed in shadow^y temples; watching hungri- 
ly in the gloaming wfflere earth is wet with 
dews to trip languid, weary feet; smiting 
with still more daring aim vigorous man- 
hood, and gathering to its abundant fields 
of harvest blooming youth and buoyant 
childhood! She was only another victim. 

Smuggled out of sight up under the roof, 
a person set apart, not spoken of below- 
stairs much, shuddered over a little in salon 
and corridor, wdth pale, questioning faces, 
as if pestilence were stalking abroad. There 
were voluble excuses, reasons advanced, at 
times : the fever came through Mrs. Pier- 
man’s own imprudence, of course ; and in 
this consoling view of the case the other oc- 
cupants of the great caravansary were re-as- 
sured, expressing sympathy when not afraid 
of contagion, and went their several ways. 
Dr. Pierman had need of his would-be son- 
in-law in these days — Jacob anxious to serve 
for Rachel — who was a communicating me- 
dium Avith the outside world, and in wfflom 
the stricken husband and father found sup- 
port, reliance of the best sort, through un- 
expressed and active sympathy. 

Through the long, long hours of delirium 


MISS NANCY’S PILGRIMAGE. 


135 


tlie world - worn, anxious woman stretched 
on that bed wandered ever back to tbe en- 
trance gate of childhood, and Briarbush, 
humble village among the hills. As Miss 
Nancy listened, all the intervening years 
seemed wiped away, for it was always to 
her hand the weak fingers clung, and to her 
the sharp, eager questions about forgotten 
nooks aud incidents were addressed. Did 
Nancy remember the stone house by the 
foot-bridge, where the little garden -snake 
ran out and hissed at them ? Could Nancy 
climb the rock above the water - fall where 
the white, rushing foam made one giddy ? 
Perhaps it was the scent of flowers in the 
window, the morning gift of Howard Denby 
— Roman violets fringed with delicate ferns 
— that guided these ramblings, where Nan- 
cy must always come. Far below, the daily 
routine of the great metropolis went on un- 
disturbed ; the chariot of Carnival pleasure 
had long since rolled into the succeeding 
quiet of Lent. Miss Nancy came to feel 
herself isolated in some remote tower-turret, 
with the sound of Margaret Pierman’s voice 
forever in her ears. Poor brain and poor 
lips, forced by that wasting frenzy of de- 
lirium to continual thought and continual 
speech ! 

The invalid was never violent. She ac- 
cepted two circumstances of her condition 
with the resignation of despair : a brown- 
cowled, skeleton Capuchin monk sat ever on 
the foot of her bed ; and the walls were dec- 
orated with wreaths of human bones, which 
she strove vainly to count, until Miss Nancy 
soothingly led her back to Briarbush and 
childhood once more. 

The Carnival tide had merged into sober, 
repentant Lent, and Lent in turn had worn 
away to Easter-even, when Miss Nancy sat 
again by the window, and the chamber was 
wrapped in the profound repose of slumber. 
At last Mrs. Pierman’s voice had ceased in 
the collapse of unconsciousness. She was 
better or worse, in that poising of the balance 
between hope and fear. Dr. Pierman, worn 
with watching and grief, had gone out some 
time before at Miss Nancy’s earnest solicita- 
tion. If the patient’s sleep were a healthy 
one, she might yet be saved ; and the nurse 
by the window scarcely ventured to breathe. 
From her post she could see the clear ex- 
panse of sky, and one pure star that seemed 
to watch with her. A clock struck midnight 
somewhere near. A ball was in progress 
down-stairs; light feet were tripping over 
polished floors to strains of inspiriting mu- 
sic. We must be gay when Roman fever 
stalks abroad, as the Florentines feasted on 
the brink of the plague-pit. The star beam- 
ed with rapid .scintillations above in the 
dome of sky, and Miss Nancy gazed at it 
with thoughts far away. She also trod the 
wood paths in Briarbush again, following 
Margaret Pierman’s capricious fancy. 


Nancy !” the voice was low, weak, altered. 

For the first time in that chamber Miss 
Nancy, steady of nerve, rose from her seat 
with her heart in her throat and trembling 
limbs. 

Yes, Margaret.” 

I told a lie when I was young. I said 
you were to marry Humphrey Baylis.” 

Miss Nancy strove to control the convul- 
sive sobs that would come. 

“ What does it all matter now, Margaret ? 
You have been very ill — another time — ” 

She bowed her head on the coverlet, not 
to see the large eyes, open so wide, now 
mournful, fixed. If a soul is ever permitted 
retrospect of life, pausing on the threshold 
of the invisible beyond, Margaret Pierman 
then looked back with one sweeping, awe- 
struck glance. 

Marry John when I am dead,” the weak 
voice went on. Pray — to God for my for- 
giveness.” 

Miss Nancy raised her head. A blank of 
great fear passed like a quiver of sharp pain 
over the face on the pillow. 

The Capuchin monk is coming back ! 
No, no, not for my soul — a saint is j)raying for 
me 

Dr. Pierman entered the room, and Miss 
Nancy went to meet him. 

She is delirious again, I fear,” she whis- 
pered. 

Three of the clock. Miss Nancy sat again 
by the window ; the star had waned. Dr. 
Pierman was bending over the bed, from 
whence no more articulate words came. 
The door opened silently, and Blanche en- 
tered, followed by Howard Denby. There 
was defiance in the girl’s impetuous en- 
trance as of one spurning longer banish- 
ment ; but she laid her head on her moth- 
er’s hand, with a low, shuddering sob. 

The Hotel San Vitale slept; the dancers 
nestled among their pillows, dreaming of 
pretty faces or admiring glances; the last 
weary porter, after admitting Blanche, had 
crept into the hole he called his own. 

Thus the Easter morning dawned, gild- 
ing St. Peter’s and the Pantheon, resting on 
the ruins of the Coliseum and Caesar’s house. 
Arch of Titus, or Constantine, counting in 
their gray antiquity the single life -throbs 
of ’Centuries. Easter morning, rose-flushed 
with dawn’s hope of joyous noonday, prom- 
ising the resurrection ; but Margaret Pier- 
man did not awaken. 

A month later, two persons, a lady and 
gentleman, were walking on an apparently 
well-known path which led to a fresh grave 
in the Protestant Cemetery. Above them 
the cypress - trees, no longer shedding the 
blue smoke of spring blossoms, yet sx)read a 
dark shade over the grass still flecked with 
violets amidst the white head-stones; and 
on the left the tomb of Caius Cestius rose. 


136 


MISS NANCY^S PILGRIMAGE. 


plain and severe, itself a stranger, having 
outlived its age, guarding the resting-idace 
of strangers; ashes of Shelley burned at 
Lerici, remains of Gibson, and those flowers 
gathered from ranks of English, American, 
German homes. Here was the foreigner’s 
burial-place in unconsecrated ground. 

“And gray walls molder round, on which dull Time 
Feeds like slow fire upon a hoary brand ; 

And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, 
Pavilioning the dust of him who planned 
This refuge for his memory, doth stand 

Like flame transformed to marble.” 

The two visitors paused beside their grave, 
making some subdued comments on the mon- 
ument, suited in word aud gesture to the 
deep mourning of the gentleman. 

Nancy, I heard poor Margaret’s last 
words to you,” he said, at length. 

“ It was delirium, John,” replied Miss 
Nancy, quickly, endeavoring to shield the 
dead woman in her grave. 

The oxen came slowly through the Porta 
San Paolo, with tinkle of hells and creaking 
of heavy wheels ; the green meadows stretch- 
ed away to the Monte Testaccio lying in full 
sunshine ; and on the other hand rose the 
pyramid, time -stained and indestructible, 
on which St. Paul’s mortal gaze once rested, 
and which now guarded the last sleep of an 
American woman in a foreign land. 

Life and death are marked by the oscilla- 
tion of Time’s pendulum. Inevitably as the 
limit of the grave in Rome has been reached 
in the Protestant cemetery amidst sorrowful 
shadow, the pendulum must swing back to- 
ward hope aud life again. 

The sun will dawn on a happy home in 
South America, where Blanche, courageous 


wife and serene mother, will sway in the 
hammock beneath the palm-trees, while that 
calm young man, Howard Deuby, with the 
steady, unflinching Northern eye, fuses the 
materials placed at his command by nature, 
working wdth enthusiasm, for the first time, 
because of an exi)ectant face watching for 
him and small baby feet that strive to meet 
him at the door. 

The sun will dawn on Briarbush, tinging 
the old red homestead with homely warmth, 
where grandmother may often be seen be- 
hind the panes of the sitting-room window, 
spectacles on nose ; but the radiance will 
linger long on the slope of hill aud the min- 
ister’s head-stone — a cheerful spot, not as- 
sociated with the terrors of death ; where 
the children pause on their way from school 
with merry prank and bubbling laughter. 

A ray of this impartial sun of the future 
will also fall on the threshold of Dr. Pier- 
man’s town house, modest and unassuming, 
but where some of the kindly spirit of hos- 
pitality peculiar to the minister’s home at 
Briarbush will find its way with the new 
mistress. He is to begin life all over again, 
stimulated to fresh courage by the interest 
of his wife in all his favorite pursuits ; aud 
a prominent ornament of his office may be 
a skeleton mouse under glass, first effort 
of a medical student in the years gone by. 
She will not be a fashionable lady in the 
least, this second wife, and her laces will 
not be remarkable, but Mrs. Cocks and her 
friends will take pleasure in visiting her, as 
well as the city poor, who flock with unfail- 
ing instinct to her door. 

Dear reader, shall we be able to reeognize 
in her — you aud I — the plain Miss Nancy of 
our pilgrimage ? 


THE END. 


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BLACKWELL’S (Mrs. A. B.) The Island 

Neighbors. Illustrated 75 

BORROAV’S LavengrO' 75 

Romany Rye 75 


mcE 


BRADDON’S (Miss) Aurora Floyd $ 75 

A Strange World 75 

Birds of Prey. Illustrated 75 

Bound to John Company. Illustrated. 75 

Charlotte’s Inheritance 50 

Dead Men’s Shoes 75 

Dead Sea Fruit. Illustrations 50 

Eleanor’s Victory 75 

Fenton’s Quest. Illustrated 50 

Hostages to Fortune. Illustrated 75 

John Marchmont’s Legacy 75 

Joshua Haggard’s Daughter. Illustra- 
ted. (/?i Press.) 

Lost for Love. Illustrated 75 

Publicans and Sinners 75 

Strangers and Pilgrims. Illustrated. 75 

Taken at the Flood 75 

The Levels of Arden. Illustrated 75 

To the Bitter End. Illustrated 75 

BREACLI of Promise 50 

BREMER’S (Miss) Brothers and Sisters 50 

New Sketches of Every-Day Life 50 

Nina 50 

The H. Family 50 

The Home 50 

The Midnight Sun 25 

The Neighbors^ 50 

The Parsonage of Mora 25 

The President’s Daughters 25 

BRONTE’S (Charlotte) Jane Eyre 75 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 50 

Shirley 1 00 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 50 

Villette 75 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 50 

The Professor. Illustrated 12mo 1 50 


(Anna) The Tenant of AVildfell Hall. 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 50 
(Emily) Wuthering Heights. Ill’s. ..12mo 1 60 
BROOKS’S Sooner or Later. Illustrated 1 50 


Cloth 2 00 

The Gordian Knot 50 

The Silver Cord. Illustrated 150 

Cloth 2 00 

BROUGHAM’S Albert Lunel 75 

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2 


A Complete List of Novels published by Harper 6 ^ Brothers, 


PKICB 

BULWER’S Alice $ 50 

A Strange Story. Illustrated 1 00 

12mo 1 25 

Devereux 50 

Ernest Maltravers 50 

Eugene Aram 50 

Godolphin 50 

12mo 1 50 

Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings 1 00 

Kenelm Chillingly 75 

12ino 1 25 

Leila 50 

12mo 1 00 

Lucretia 75 

My Novel 1 50 


2 vols. 12mo 2 50 


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Paul Clifford 

Pausanias the Spartan 

12 mo 

Pelham 

Eienzi. 

The Caxtons 

12mo 

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The Last of the Barons 

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12mo 

What will lie do with it ? 

Cloth 

Zanoni 

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CAPRON’S (Miss) Helen Lincoln 12mo 

CARLEN’S (Miss) Ivar; or, The Skjuts-Boy. 

The Brothers’ Bet 

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CASTE. By the Author of “Colonel Dacre.” 

CASTLETON’S Salem 12mo 

CHARLES Auchester 

CHURCH’S (Mrs. Ross) Her Lord and Master 

The Prey of the Gods 

CITIZEN of Prague 

CLARKE’S The Beauclercs, Father and Son. 

His Natural Life 

COLLINS’S (Mortimer) The Vivian Romance. 
COLLINS’S (Wilkie) Armadale. Illustrated. 

Antonina 

Man and Wife. Illustrated 

No Name. Illustrated 

Poor Miss Finch. Illustrated 

The Law and the Lady. Illustrated.... 

The Moonstone. Illustrated 

The New Magdalen 

The Two Destinies. Ill’s 

The Woman in White. Illustrated 

COLLINS’S (Wilkie) Illustrated Library 
Edition 12mo, per vol. 


7o 

50 

50 

75 

75 

75 

75 

25 

75 

50 

00 

25 

00 

50 

50 

00 

50 

1 50 
75 
1 00 
50 
1 50 
50 
25 
50 
50 
1 25 
75 
60 
30 
1 00 
50 
75 
50 
1 00 
50 
1 00 
1 00 
1 00 
75 

1 00 
50 
50 
1 00 

1 50 


After Dark, and 
Other Stories. 

Antonina. 

Armadale. 

Basil. 

Hide-and-Seek. 

Man and AVife. 

My Miscellanies. 

The Woman in White. 

CO LONEL Dacre. By the Author of ‘ ‘ Caste. 


No Name. 

Poor Miss Finch. 

The Dead Secret. 

The Law and the Laay. 
The Moonstone. 

The New Magdalen. 
The Queen of Hearts. 
The Two Destinies. 


50 


PKICE • 

CONSTANCE Lyndsay $ f;0 

COOKE’S Henry St. John 12mo 1 50 

Leather Stocking and Silk 12mo 1 50 

CORNWALLIS’S Pilgrims of Fashion. 12mo 1 00 
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(Miss G. M.) Mildred 50 

Sylvia’s Choice 50 

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CURTIS’S Trumps. Illustrated 12mo 2 00 

D’ARBOUVILLE’S Tales 12mo 1 50 

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Playing the Mischief. 75 

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Cloth 1 25 

The American Baron. Illustrated 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

The Cryptogram. Illustrated 1 50 

Cloth 2 00 

The Dodge Club. Illustrated 75 

Cloth 1 25 

The Living Link. Illustrated 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

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A Tale of Two Cities 50 

Cloth 1 00 

Barnaby Rudge 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

Bleak House 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

Christmas Stories 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

David Copperfield 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

Dombey and Son 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

Great Expectations 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

Little Dorrit 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

Martin Chuzzlewit 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

Nicholas Nickleby 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

Oliver Twist 50 

Cloth 1 00 

Our Mutual Friend 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

Pickwick Papers 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

The Old Curiosity Shop 75 

Cloth 1 25 

The Uncommercial Traveller, Hard 

Times, and Edwin Drood 1 00 

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12mo 1 25 

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DRAYTON 12mo 1 50 

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A Complete List of Novels published by Harper 6 ^ Brothers. 


3 


PRICE 

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Frank 2 vols. 18mo 1 50 


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Debenham’s Vow. Illustrated 75 

Half a Million of Money 75 

Hand and Glove 50 

Miss Carew 50 

My Brother’s Wife 50 

The Ladder of Life 50 

(M. B.) Kitty 50 

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From Thistles— Grapes ? 50 

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Adam Bede. Illustrated 12mo 1 50 

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2 vols., 12 mo 3 00 

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Cloth' 2 00 
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12mo 1 50 

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In one volume. Illustrated. 12mo 1 50 

The Mill on the Floss 75 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 50 

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Home 12mo 1 50 

Look to the End 50 

Temper and Temperament 12mo 75 

ESTELLE Russell 75 

FALKENBURG 75 


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At the Sign of the Silver Flagon 40 

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Golden Grain. Illustrated 35 

Grif 40 


Cloth 90 


PRICE 

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Joshua Marvel 40 

Cloth 90 

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FIVE Hundred Pounds Reward 50 

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GREEN Hand, The 75 

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(J.) Singleton Fontenov 50 

HARDY’S (Ladv) Daisy Nichol 50 

HAVERS’S (Dora) Jack’s Sister 75 

HAY’S (Mary Cecil) Hidden Perils 75 

Old Myddelton’s Money 50 

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Victor and Vanquished 50 

HEALEY 60 

HEIR Expectant, The 50 


4 


A Complete List of Novels published by Harper Brothers. 


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Who Shall be Greatest 18mo, Cloth 75 

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12mo 1 75 

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Sir Theodore Broughton 50 

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‘ The Smuggler 75 

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Thirty Y'ears Since. 75 

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Attila 12mo 1 50 

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Henry of Guise 12mo 1 50 

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Mary of Burgundy 12mo 1 50 

Morley Ernstein 12mo 1 50 

One in a Thousand 12mo 1 50 

Philip Augustus 12mo 1 50 

Richelieu 12mo 1 50 

The Ancient Regime 12mo 1 50 

The Club Book 12mo 1 50 


PRICE 

JAMES’S The Desultorj’- Man 12mo$l 50 

The Gentleman of the Old School. .12mo 1 50 

The Gipsy 12mo 1 50 

The Huguenot 12mo 1 50 

The Jacquerie 12mo 1 50 

The King’s Highway 12mo 1 50 

The Man at Arms 12mo 1 50 

The Robber 12mo 1 50 

The String of Pearls 12mo 1 25 

JEAFFRESON’S Isabel 12mo 1 50 

Live it Down 1 00 

Lottie Darling 75 

Not Dead Y"et 1 25 

Cloth 1 75 

Olive Blake’s Good Work 75 

JENKINS’S The Devil’s Chain. Ill’s. 12mo 50 

Cloth 75 

JESSIE’S Flirtations 50 

JERROLD’S Chronicles of Clovernook 25 

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The Adopted Child 16mo. 1 00 

Zoe 50 

JILT, The 50 

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Joseph the Jew 50 

Miss Nancy’s Pilgrimage, (/w Press.') 

The Calderwood Secret 50 

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Off the Roll 75 

Our Detachment 50 

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Yeast 12mo 1 50 

(Henry) Hetty 25 

Stretton 40 

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12mo 1 50 

KNOWLES’S Fortescue 1 00 

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LAMARTINE’S Genevieve 12mo, Paper 25 

Raphael 12mo 1 25 

The Stone Mason of St. Point 12mo 1 25 

LAWRENCE’S (Geo. A.) Anteros 50 

Brakespeare 50 

Breaking a Butterfly 85 

Guy Livingstone 12mo 1 50 

Hagarene 75 

Maurice Dering 50 

Sans Merci 50 

Sword and Gown 25 

LEE’S (Holme) Annis Warleigh’s Fortunes. 75 

Kathie Brande 12mo 1 50 

Mr. Wynyard’s Ward 50 

Svlvan Holt’s Daughter 12mo 1 50 

LE FANU’S All in the Dark 50 

A Lost Name 50 

Guy Deverell 50 

The Tenants of Malory 50 

Uncle Silas 75 

LE SAGE’S Gil Bias 12mo 1 50 

LEVER’S A Day’s Ride 50 

Barrington 75 

Gerald Fitzgerald 50 

Lord Kilgobbin. Illustrations 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

Luttrell of Arran 1 00 

Cloth 1 50 

Maurice Tiernay 1 00 

One of Them 75 

Roland Cashel. Illustrations 1 25 

Sir Brook Fosbrooke 50 


A Complete List of Novels published by Harper Brothers, 


5 


PRICE 

LEVER’S Sir Jasper Carew $ 75 

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Motherless. Translated. Ill’s. ...12mo 1 50 

My Mother and I. Ill’s 50 

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Nothing New 50 

Ogilvies 50 

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Illustrated. 12mo 1 50 
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Unkind Word and Other Stories. ..12mo 1 50 

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MY Uncle the Curate 50 

NABOB at Home, The 50 

NATURE’S Nobleman 50 

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Athelings 75 

BrownloM’S 37 

Chronicles of Carlingford 1 25 

Cloth 1 75 

Days of My Life 12mo 1 50 

For Love and Life 75 

Innocent. Illustrated 75 

John: a Love Story 50 

Katie Stewart 25 

Lucy Crofton 12mo 1 50 

Madonna Mary 50 

Miss Marjoribanks 50 

Ombra 75 

Quiet Heart 25 

Phoebe, Junior 50 


6 


A Complete List of Novels published by Harper 6 ^ Brothers. 


PRICE 


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Cloth 1 60 

Squire Arden 75 

The Curate in Charge 50 

The House on the Moor 12mo 1 50 

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Cloth 1 50 

The Story of Valentine and his Brother. 75 

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PAYN’S (Jas.) A Beggar on Horseback.... 35 

A Woman’s Vengeance 50 

At Her Mercy ' 50 

Bred in the Bone 50 

Carlyon’s Year 25 

Cecil’s Tryst 50 

Found Dead 50 

Gwendoline’s Harvest 25 

Halves 50 

Murphy’s Master 25 

One of the Family 25 

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Won— Not Wooed 50 

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POINT of Honor, A 50 

POLLARD’S (Eliza F.) Hope Deferred 50 

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Mary Lindsay 50 

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12mo 75 

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Hard Cash. Illustrations 75 

It is Never Too Late to Mend 75 

Love Me Little, Love Me Long 50 

Peg Woffington and Other Tales 75 

Put Yourself in His Place. Illustrations. 75 

Cloth 1 25 

12mo 1 00 

The Cloister and the Hearth 75 

The Wandering PI eir. Illustrations,... 35 

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A Library Edition of Reade’s Novels, 

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As Long as She Lived, (/n Press.) 

Carry’s Confession 75 

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Pier Face was Her Fortune 50 

Little Kate Kirby. Illustrations 75 

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ROBINSON’S (F. W.) No Man’s Friend. ...$ 75 

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Second-Cousin Sarah. Illustrations 75 

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SAUNDERS’S Abel Drake’s Wife 75 

Bound to the Wheel 75 

Hirell 50 

Israel Mort, Overman 75 

Martin Pole 50 


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Live and Let Live 18mo, Cloth 75 

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16 Vols., 12mo, Cloth, per vol. 1 50 
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Vol. I. The History of Henry Mil- 
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&c, 

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Vol. XHI. The Mail-Coach ; My 
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Vol. XIV. The Monk of Cimies ; 

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Vol. XV. The History of Henry 
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Vol. XVI. John Marten. 

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Jeanie’s Quiet Life 50 

Meta’s Faith 50 

St. 0 hive’s 75 

The Blue Ribbon 50 

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HARPER’S LIBRARY OF SELECT NOVELS. 


Harper’s Select Library of Fiction rarely includes a work which has not a decided charm, either from the 
clearness of the story, the significance of the theme, or the charm of the execution ; so that on setting out 
upon a journey, or providing for the recreation of a solitary evening, one is wise and safe in procuring the 
later numbers of this attractive series . — Boston Transcript. 


PRICK 


1. Pelham. By Bulwer $ 75 

2. The Disowned. By Bulwer 75 

3. Devereux. By Bulwer 50 

4. Paul Clifford. By Bulwer 50 

5. Eugene Aram. By Bulwer 50 

6* The Last Days of Pompeii. By Bulwer 50 

7. The Czarina. By Mrs. Hofland 50 

8. Rienzi. By Bulwer ; 75 

9. Self-Devotion. By Miss Campbell 50 

10. The Nabob at Home 50 

11. Ernest Maltravers. By Bulwer 50 

12. Alice ; or, The Mysteries. By Bulwer 50 

13. The Last of the Barons. By Bulwer..! 00 

14. Forest Days. By James 50 

15. Adam Brown, the Merchant. By H. 

Smith 50 

16. Pilgrims of the Rhine. By Bulwer.... 25 

17. The Home. By Miss Bremer 50 

18. The Lost Ship. By Captain Neale 75 

19. The False Heir. By James 50 

20. The Neighbors. By Miss Bremer 50 

21. Nina. By Miss Bremer 50 

22. The President’s Daughters. By Miss 

Bremer 25 

23. The Banker’s Wife. By Mrs. Gore.... 50 

21. The Birthright. By Mrs. Gore 25 

25. New Sketches of Every-day Life. By 

Miss Bremer 50 

26. Arabella Stuart. By James 50 

27. The Grumbler. By Miss Pickering. ... 50 

28. The Unloved One. By Mrs. Hofland. 50 

29. Jack of the Mill. By William Howitt. 25 

30. The Heretic. By Lajetchnikoff. 50 

31. The Jew. By Spindler 75 

32. Arthur. By Sue 75 

33. Chatsworth. By Ward 50 

34. The Prairie Bird. By C. A. Murray. 1 00 

35. Amy Herbert. By Miss Sewell 50 

36. Rose d’Albret. By James 50 

37. The Triumphs of Time. By Mrs. Marsh 75 

38. The H Family. By Miss Bremer 50 

39. The Grandfiither. By Miss Pickering. 50 

40. Arrah Neil. By James 50 

41. The Jilt 50 

42. Tales from the German 50 

43. Arthur Arundel. ByH. Smith 50 

44. Agincourt. By James 50 

45. The Regent’s Daughter 50 

46. The Maid of Honor 50 

47. Safia. By De Beauvoir 50 

48. Look to the End. By Mrs. Ellis 50 

49. The Improvisatore. By Andersen 50 

50. The Gambler’s Wife. By Mrs. Grey.. 50 

51. Veronica. By Zschokke 50 

52. Zoe. By Miss Jewsbury 50 

58. Wyoming 50 

54. De Rohan. By Sue 50 

55. Self. By the Author of “Cecil ” 75 

56. The Smuggler. By James 75 

57. The Breach of Promise 50 


PRICK 

58. Parsonage of Mora. By Miss Bremer^ 25 

59. A Chance Medley. By T. C. Grattan 50 

60. The White Slave 1 00 

61. The Bosom Friend. By Mrs. Grey.. 50 

62. Amaury. By Dumas 50 

63. The Author’s Daughter. By Mary 

Howitt 25 

64. Only a Fiddler ! &c. By Andersen.... 50 

65. The Whiteboy. By Mrs. Hall 50 

66. The Foster-Brother. Edited by Leigh 

Hunt 50 

67. Love and Mesmerism. By H. Smith. 75 

68. Ascanio. By Dumas 75 

69. Lady of Milan. Edited by Mrs. 

Thomson 75 

70. The Citizen of Prague 1 00 

71. The Royal Favorite. By Mrs. Gore. 50 

72. The Queen of Denmark. By Mrs. Gore 50 

73. The Elves, &c. By Heck 50 

74. 75. The Step-Mother. By James 1 25 

76. Jessie’s Flirtations 50 

77. Chevalier d’Harmental. By Dumas. 50 

78. Peers and Parvenus. By Mrs. Gore. 50 

79. The Commander of Malta. By Sue.. 50 

80. The Female Minister 50 

81. Emilia Wyndham. By Mrs. Marsh. 75 

82. The Bush-Ranger. By Chas.Rowcroft 50 

83. The Chronicles of Clovernook 25 

84. Genevieve. By Lamartine 25 

85. Livonian Tales 25 

86. Lettice Arnold. By Ms. Marsh 25 

87. Father Darcy. By Mrs. Marsh 75 

88. Leontine. By Mrs. Maberly 50 

89. Heidelberg. By James 50 

90. Lucretia. By Bulwer 75 

91. Beauchamp. By James 75 

92. 94. Fortescue. By Knowles I 00 

93. DanielDennison, &c. By Mrs. Hofland 50 

95. Cinq-Mars. By De Vigny 50 

96. Woman’s Trials. By Mrs. S. C. Hall 75 

97. The Castle of Ehrenstein. By James 50 

98. Marriage. By Miss S. Ferrier 50 

99. Roland Cashel. By Lever I 25 

100. Martins of Cro’ Martin. By Lever... I 25 

101. Russell. By James 50 

102. A Simple Story. By Mrs. Inchbald, . 50 

103. Norman’s Bridge. By Mrs. Marsh... 50 

104. Alamance 50 

105. Margaret Graham. By James 25 

106. The Wayside Cross. By E. H. ISlil- 

raan 25 

107. The Convict. By James 50 

108. Midsummer Eve. By Mrs. S. C. Hall 50 

109. Jane Eyre. By Currer Bell 75 

110. The Last of the Fairies. By James. . 25 

111. Sir Theodore Broughton. By James 50 

112. Self-Control. By Mary Brunton 75 

113. 114. Harold. By Bulwer 1 00 

115. Brothers and Sisters. By Miss Bremer 50 

116. Gowrie. By James 50 


2 


Harper's Library of Select Novels, 


TEIOB 

117. A Whim and its Consequences. By 

James $ 50 

118. Three Sisters and Three Fortunes. 

By G. H. Lewes 75 

119. The Discipline of Life 50 

120. Thirty Years Since. By James 75 

121. Mary Barton. By Mrs. Gaskell 50 

122. The Great Hoggarty Diamond. By 

Thackeray 25 

123. The Forgery. By James 50 

124. The Midnight Sun. By Miss Bremer 25 

125,126. The Caxtons. ByBulwer 75 

127. Mordaunt Hall. By Mrs. Marsh 50 

128. My Uncle the Curate 50 

129. The Woodman. By James 75 

130. The Green Hand. A “ Short Yam ” 75 

131. Sidonia the Sorceress. By Meinhold 1 00 

132. Shirley. By Currer Bell 1 00 

1 33. The Ogilvies 50 

134. Constance Lyndsay. By G. C. H 50 

135. Sir Edward Graham. By Miss Sinclair. 1 00 

136. Hands not Hearts. By Miss Wilkinson. 50 

137. The Wilmingtons. By Mrs. Marsh. . 50 

138. Ned Allen. By D. Hannay .50 

139. Night and Morning. ByBulwer 75 

140. The Maid of Orleans 75 

141. Antonina. By Wilkie Collins 50 

142. Zanoni. ByBulwer 50 

143. Reginald Hastings. By Warburton.. 50 

144. Pride and Irresolution 50 

145. The Old Oak Chest. By James 50 

146. Julia Howard. By Mrs. Martin Bell. 50 

147. Adelaide Lindsay. Edited by Mrs. 

Marsh 50 

148. Petticoat Government. By Mrs. Trol- 

lope 50 

149. The Luttrells. By F. Williams 50 

150. Singleton Fontenoy, R. N. By Hannay 50 

151. Olive. By the Author of “The Ogilvies” 50 

152. Henry Smeaton. By James 50 

153. Time, the Avenger. By Mrs. Marsh. 50 

154. The Commissioner. By James 1 00 

155. The Wife s Sister. ByMrs. Hubback 50 

156. The Gold Worshipers 50 

157. The Daughter of Night. ByFulloni. 50 

158. Stuart of Dunleath. By Hon. Caro- 

line Norton 50 

159. Arthur Conway. ByCapt.E.H.Milman 50 

160. The Fate. By James 50 

161. The Lady and the Priest. By Mrs. 

Maberly 50 

162. Aims and Obstacles. By James 50 

163. The Tutor’s Ward 50 

164. Florence Sackville. By Mrs. Burbury 75 

165. Ravenscliffe. ByMrs. Marsh 50 

166. Maurice Tiernay. By Lever 1 00 

167. The Head of the Family. By Miss 

Mulock 75 

168. Darien. By Warburton .50 

169. Falkenburg 75 

170. The Daltons. By Lever 1 50 

171. Ivar; or, The Skjuts-Boy. By Miss 

Carlen 50 

172. Pequinillo. By James 50 

173. Anna Hammer. ByTemme 50 

174. A Life of Vicissitudes. By James... 50 

175. Henry Esmond. By Thackeray 50 

176. 177. My Novel. By Bulwer 1 50 

178. Katie Stewart 25 

179. Castle Avon. ByMrs. Marsh 50 

180. Agnes Sorel. By James 50 


PRIOB 

181. Agatha’s Husband. By the Author of 

“Olive” $ 50 

182. Villette. By Currer Bell 75 

183. Lover’s Stratagem. By Miss Carlen. 50 

184. Clouded Happiness. * By Countess 

D’Orsay 50 

185. Charles Auchester. A Memorial 75 

186. Lady Lee’s Widowhood 50 

187. Dodd Family Abroad. By Lever.... 1 25 

188. Sir Jasper Carew. By LeVer 75 

189. Quiet Heart 25 

190. Aubrey. By Mrs. Marsh 75 

191. Ticonderoga. By James 50 

192. Hard Times. By Dickens 50 

193. The Young Husband. By Mrs. Grey 50 

194. The Mother’s Recompense. By Grace 

Aguilar 75 

195. Avillion, &c. By Miss Mulock 1 25 

196. North and South. ByMrs. Gaskell. 50 

197. Country Neighborhood. By Miss Du- 

puy 50 

198. Constance Herbert. ByMiss Jevvsbury. 50 

199. The Heiress of Haughton. By Mrs. 

Marsh 50 

200. The Old Dominion. By James 50 

201. John Halifax. By the Author of 

“Olive,” &c 75 

202. Evelyn Marston. By Mrs. Marsh.... 50 

203. Fortunes of Glencore. By Lever 50 

204. Leonora d'Orco. By James 50 

205. Nothing New. By Miss Mulock 50 

206. The Rose of Ashurst. By Mrs. Marsh 50 

207. The Athelings. By Mrs. Oliphant. . . . 75 

208. Scenes of Clerical Life 75 

209. My Lady Ludlow. By Mrs. Gaskell. 25 
210,211. Gerald Fitzgerald. By Lever... 50 

212. A Life for a Life. By Miss Mulock.. 50 

213. Sword and Gown. By Geo. Lawrence 25 

214. Misrepresentation. By Anna H. Drury. 1 00 

215. The Mill on the Floss. By George Eliot 75 

216. One of Them. By Lever 75 

217. A Day’s Ride. By Lever 50 

218. Notice to Quit. By Wills 50 

219. A Strange Story 1 00 

220. Brown, Jones, and Robinson. By 

Trollope 60 

221. Abel Drake’s Wife. By John Saunders 75 

222. Olive Blake’s Good Work. By J. C. 

Jeaffreson 75 

223. The Professor’s Lady 25 

224. Mistress and Maid. By Miss Mulock 50 

225. Aurora Floyd. By M. E. Braddon .. 75 

226. Barrington. By Lever 75 

227. Sylvia’s Lovers. ByMrs. Gaskell.... 75 

228. A First Friendship 50 

229. A Dark Night’s Work. By Mrs. Gaskell 50 

230. Countess Gisela. By E. Marlitt 25 

231. St. Olave’s. By Eliza Tabor 75 

232. A Point of Honor 50 

233. Live it Down. By Jeaffreson 1 00 

234. Martin Pole. By Saunders 50 

235. Mary Lyndsay. By Lady Ponsonby. 50 

236. Eleanor’s Victory. By M. E. Braddon 75 

237. Rachel Ray. By Trollope 50 

238. John Marchmont’s Legacy. By M. 

E. Braddon 75 

239. Annie Warleigh’s Fortunes. By 

Holme Lee 75 

240. The Wife’s Evidence. By Wills 50 

241. Barbara’s History. By Amelia B. 

Edwards 75 


Harper's Library of Select Novels, 


3 


PEIOE 


242. Cousin Phillis $ 25 

243. What Will He Do With It? ByBulwer.l 50 

244. The Ladder of Life. By Amelia B. 

Edwards 50 

245. Denis Duval. By Thackeray 25 

246. Maurice Dering. By Geo. Lawrence 50 

247. Margaret Denzil’s History 75 

248. Quite Alone. By George Augustus Sala 75 

249. Mattie: a Stray 75 

250. My Brother’s Wife. By Amelia B. 

Edwards 50 

251. Uncle Silas. ByJ. S. Le Fanu 75 

252. Lovel the Widower. By Thackeray.. 25 

253. Miss Mackenzie. By Anthony Trollope 50 

254. On Guard. By Annie Thomas 50 

255. Theo Leigh. By Annie Thomas 50 

256. Denis Doone. By Annie Thomas.... 50 

257. Belial 50 

258. Carry’s Confession 75 

259. Miss Carew. By Amelia B. Edwards. 50 

260. Hand and Glove. By Amelia B. Ed- 

wards 50 

261. Guy Deverell. By J. S. Le Fanu . ... 50 

262. Half a Million of Money. By Amelia 

B. Edwards 75 

263. The Belton Estate. By A. Trollope... 50 

264. Agnes. By Mrs. Oliphant 75 


265. Walter Goring. By Annie Thomas.. 75 

266. Maxwell Drewitt. By Mrs. J.H. Riddell 75 

267. The Toilers of the Sea. By Victor Hugo 75 

268. Miss Marjoribanks. By Mrs. Oliphant. 50 

269. True History of a Little Ragamuffin. 

By James Greenwood 50 

270. Gilbert Rugge. By the Author of “A 

First Friendship ” 1 00 

271. Sans Merci. By Geo. Lawrence 50 

272. Phemie Keller. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell 50 

273. Land at Last. By Edmund Yates. ... 50 

274. Felix Holt, the Radical. By Geo. Eliot. 75 

275. Boundto the Wheel. By John Saunders 75' 

276. All in the Dark. By J. S. Le Fanu. 50 

277. Kissing the Rod. By Edmund Yates 75 

278. The Race for Wealth. By Mrs. J.H. 


Riddell 75 

279. Lizzie Lorton of Greyrigg. By Mrs. 

Linton 75 

280. The Beauclercs, Father and Son. By 

C. Clarke 50 

281 . Sir Brook Fossbrooke. By Chas. Lever 50 

282. Madonna Mary. By Mrs. Oliphant . 50 

283. Cradock Nowell. By R.D.Blackmore. 75 

284. Bernthal. From the German of L. 

Muhlbach 50 

285. Rachel’s Secret 75 

286. The Claverings. By Anthony Trollope. 50 

287. The Village on the Cliff. By Miss 

Thackeray 25 

288. Played Out. By Annie Thomas 75 

289. Black Sheep. By Edmund Yates 50 

290. Sowing the Wind. By E. Lynn Linton. 50 

291. Nora and Archibald Lee 50 

292. Raymond’s Heroine 50 

293. Mr.Wynyard’sWard. By Holme Lee. 50 

294. Alec Forbes. By George Macdonald 75 

295. No Man’s Friend. By F.W. Robinson. 75 

296. Called to Account. By Annie Thomas 50 

297. Caste 50 

298. The Curate’s Discipline. By Mrs.Eiloart 50 

299. Circe. By Babington White 50 

300. The Tenants of Malory. By J. S. Le 

Fanu 50 


PEIOB 

301. Carlyon’s Year. By James Payn $ 25 


302. The Waterdale Neighbors 50 

303. Mabel’s Progress 50 

304. Guild Court. By Geo. Macdonald... 5G 

305. The Brothers’ Bet. By Miss Carlen. 25 

306. Playing for High Stakes. By Annie 

Thomas. Illustrated 25 

307. Margaret’s Engagement 50 

308. One of the Family. By James Payn. 25 

309. Five Hundred Pounds Reward. By 

a Barrister 50 

310. Brownlows. By Mrs. Oliphant 38 


311. Charlotte’s Inheritance. Sequel to 

“Birds of Prey.” By Miss Braddon 50 

312. Jeanie’s Quiet Life. By Eliza Tabor. 50 

313. Poor Humanity. By F. W. Robinson 50 


314. Brakespeare. By Geo. Lawrence 50 

315. A Lost Name. ByJ. S. Le Fanu.... 50 

316. Love or Marriage ? By W. Black. ... 50 

317. Dead - Sea Fruit. By Miss Braddon. 

Illustrated 50 

318. The Dower House. By Annie Thomas 50 

319. The Bramleighs of Bishop’s Follv. By 

Lever 50 

320. Mildred. By Georgiana M. Craik.... 50 

321. Nature’s Nobleman. By the Author 

of “Rachel’s Secret” 50 

322. Kathleen. By the Author of “Ray- 

mond’s Heroine ” 50 

323. That Boy of Norcott’s. By Chas. Lever 25 

324. In Silk Attire. By W. Black 50 

325. Hetty. By Henry Kingsley 25 

326. False Colors. By Annie Thomas 50 

327. Meta’s Faith. By Eliza Tabor 50 

328. Found Dead. By James Payn 50 

329. Wrecked in Port. By Edmund Yates 50 

330. The Minister’s Wife. By Mrs. Oliphant 75 

331. A Beggar on Horseback. By Jas. Payn 35 

332. Kitty. By M. Betham Edwards 50 

333. Only Herself. By Annie Thomas .... 50 

334. Hirell. By John Saunders 50 

335. Under Foot. By Alton Clyde 50 

336. So Runs the World Away. By Mrs. 

A. C. Steele 50 

337. Baffled. By Julia Goddard 75 

338. Beneath the Wheels 50 

339. Stern Necessity. By F. W. Robinson 50 

340. Gwendoline’s Harvest. By James Payn 25 

341. Kilmeny. By William Black 50 

342. John: A Love Story. By Mrs. Oliphant 50 

343. True to Herself. By F. W. Robinson 50 

344. Veronica. By the Author of “Ma- 

bel’s Progress ” 50 

345. A Dangerous Guest. By the Author 

of “Gilbert Rugge” 50 

346. Estelle Russell 75 

347. The Heir Expectant. By the Author 

of “Raymond’s Heroine” 50 

348. Which is the Heroine ? 50 

349. The Vivian Romance. By Mortimer 

Collins 50 

350. In Duty Bound. Illustrated 50 

351. The Warden and Barchester Towers. 

ByX. Trollope 75 

352. From Thistles — Grapes? By Mrs. 

Eiloart 50 

353. A Siren. By T. A. Trollope 50 

354. Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite. 

By Anthony Trollope. Illustrated... 50 

355. Earl’s Dene. By R. E. Francillon.... 50 

356. Daisy Nichol. By Lady Hardy 50 


4 


Harper^ s Library of Select Novels, 


PEICE 

357. Bred in the Bone. By James Payn..^ 50 


358. Fenton’s Quest. By Miss Braddon. 

Illustrated 50 

359. Monarch of Mincing - Lane. By W. 

Black. Illustrated 50 

360. A Life’s Assize. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell 50 

361. Anteros. By the Author of “Guy 

Livingstone ” 50 

362. Her Lord and Master. By Mrs. Ross 

Church 50 

363. Won — Not Wooed. By James Payn 50 

364. For Lack of Gold. By Chas. Gibbon 50 

365. Anne Furness 75 


366. A Daughter of Heth. By W. Black. 50 

367. Durnton Abbey. By T. A. Trollope. 50 

368. Joshua Marvel. By B. L. Farjeon... 40 

369. Levels of Arden. By M. E. Braddon. 

Illustrated 75 

370. Fair to See. ByL. W. M. Lockhart. 75 

371. Cecil’s Tryst. By James Payn 50 

372. Patty. By Katharine S. Macquoid... 50 

373. Maud Mohan. By Annie Thomas.... 25 

374. Grif. By B. L. Farjeon 40 

375. A Bridge of Glass. By F. W. Robinson 50 

376. Albert Lunel. By Lord Brougham.. 75 

377. A Good Investment. By Wm. Flagg. 50 

378. A Golden Sorrow. By Mrs. Hoey. 50 

379. Ombra. By Mrs. Oliphant 75 

380. Hope Deferred. By Eliza F. Pollard 50 

381. The Maid of Sker. By R.D.Blackmore 75 

382. For the King. By Charles Gibbon... 50 

383. A Girl’s Romance, and Other Tales. 


By F. W. Robinson 50 

384. Dr. Wainwright’s Patient. By Ed- 

mund Yates 50 

385. A Passion in Tatters. ByAnnieThomas 75 

386. AWoman’s Vengeance. By Jas. Payn. 50 

387. The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. 

By William Black 75 

388. To the Bitter End. By Miss Braddon. 75 

389. Robin Gray. By Charles Gibbon 50 

390. Godolphin. By Bulwer 50 

391. Leila. By Bulwer 50 

392. Kenelm Chillingly. By Lord Lytton. 75 

393. The Hour and the Man. By Harriet 

Martineau 50 

394. Murphy’s Master. By James Payn... 25 

395. The New Magdalen. By Wilkie Collins. 50 

396. “‘He Cometh Not,’ She Said.” By 

Annie Thomas 50 

397. Innocent. By Mrs. Oliphant. Illustrated 75 

398. Too Soon. By Mrs. Macquoid 50 

399. Strangers and Pilgrims. By Miss 

Braddon 75 

400. A Simpleton. By Charles Reade 50 

401. The Two Widows. ByAnnieThomas 50 

402. Joseph the Jew 50 

403. Her Face was Her Fortune. By F. 

W. Robinson 50 


404. A Princess of Thule. By Wm. Black. 75 

405. Lottie Darling. By J. C. Jeaffreson. 75 

406. The Blue Ribbon. By Eliza Tabor. 50 

407. Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. By An- 


thony Trollope 25 

408. Publicans and Sinners. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 75 


409. Colonel Dacre. By Author of “Caste ” 50 

410. Through Fire and Water. By Talbot. 25 


PRICK 

411. Lady Anna. By Anthony Trollope.^ 50 

412. Taken at the Flood. By Miss Braddon. 75 

413. At Her Mercy. By James Payn 50 

414. Ninety-Three. By Victor Hugo 25 

415. For Love and Life. By Mrs. Oliphant. 75 

416. Doctor Thorne. By Anthony Trollope. 75 

417. The Best of Husbands. By Jas. Payn. 50 

418. Sylvia’s Choice. ByGeorgianaM.Craik '50 

419. ASack of Gold. By Miss V.W. Johnson 50 

420. Squire Arden. By Mrs. Oliphant. ... 75 

421. Lorna Doone. By R. D. Blackmore. 75 

422. Treasure Hunters. By Geo. M. Fenn. 40 

423. Lost for Love. By Miss Braddon.... 75 

424. Jack’s Sister. By Miss Dora Havers. 75 

425. Aileen Ferrers. By Susan Morley 50 

426. The Love that Lived. By Mrs.Eiloart. 50 

427. In Honor Bound. By Charles Gibbon. 50 


428. Jessie Trim. By B. L. Farjeon 50 

429. Hagarene. By George A. Lawrence. 75 

430. Old Myddelton’s Money. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 50 

431. At the Sign of the Silver Flagon. By 

B. L. Farjeon 40 

432. A Strange World. By Miss Braddon. 75 

433. Hope Meredith. By Eliza Tabor 50 

434. The Maid of Killeena, and Other 

Stories. ByW'illiam Black 50 

435. The Blossoming of an Aloe. By Mrs. 

Cashel Hoey 50 

436. Safely Married. By Author of “Caste” 50 

437. The Story of Valentine and his Brother 75 

438. Our Detachment. By Katharine King. 50 

439. Love’s Victory. By B. L. Farjeon 25 

440. Alice Lorraine. By R. D. Blackmore. 75 

441. Walter’s Word. By James Payn 75 

442. Playing the Mischief. By De Forest. 75 

443. The Lady Superior. By ElizaF. Pollard 50 

444. Iseulte. By the Author of “Vera,” 

“Hotel du Petit St. Jean,” &c 50 

‘445. Eglantine. By Eliza Tabor. 50 

446. Ward or Wife? 25 

447. Jean. By Mrs. Newman 50 

448. The Calderwood Secret. By Virginia 

W. Johnson 50 

449. Hugh Melton. By Katharine King. 25 

450. Healey 50 

451. Hostages to Fortune. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 75 

452. The Queen of Connaught 50 

453. Off the Roll. By Katharine King.... 75 

454. Halves. By James Payn 50 

455. The Squire’s Legacy. By Mary C. Hay 75 

456. Victor and Vanquished. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 50 

457. Owen G Wynne’s Great Work 50 

458. His Natural Life. By Marcus Clarke. 75 

459. The Curate in Charge. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant 50 

460. Pausanias the Spartan. By Lord Lytton 50 

461. Dead Men’s Shoes. By Miss Braddon. 75 

462. The Dilemma. By the Author of 

“The Battle of Dorking.” 75 

463. Hidden Perils. By Mary Cecil Hay... 75 

464. CrippSjtheCaiTier. By R.D.Blackmore 75 

465. Rose Turquand. By Ellice Hopkins. 50 

466. As Long as She Lived. By F. W. 

Robinson 75 

467. Israel Mort, Overman. By J. Saunders. 7a 


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VOLUME S3. ) T T A /r j new YORK, 

Number 316. j Harper’S iViAGAZiNE. i Sept., 1876. 


W ITH the June Number was commenced the P'ifty-third Volume of Harper’s Magazine. For 
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Each Number contains Serial and short Stories from the best writers in Europe and America, contrib- 
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VOLUME 


XX. 


H ARPER’s Weekly, 


! 


( 


For 

1876. 


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VOLUME 


IX. 


H ARPER’S Bazar. 1 


For 

1876. 


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